


Prelude III: Flying Saucers

by mad_martha



Series: The Preludes Series [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, Romance, X-file
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder and Scully investigate a few aliens and meet a few contacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude III: Flying Saucers

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted circa 1998.

   As cages went, he supposed it could be worse.  Not that he had a lot of experience of cages, but it had a cot with some folded blankets and a pillow on it and there was a small chemical toilet in one corner.  It might be constructed of heavy wire mesh and situated in what looked like a small aircraft hanger, but it could definitely be worse.

   Fox Mulder, a phlegmatic man by and large, accepted the situation philosophically and tested the cot by sitting on it.

   Not bad.  Not bad at all.  Frankly, he was more concerned about the fate of his new camera, which the military goons outside had handled with unnecessary roughness while trying to extract the film.

   Mulder stretched out full length and decided he might as well take a nap until his captors had decided what to do with him.

   "You MUFON or CUFOS?"

   One eye popped back open and squinted in the direction of the voice.  A figure loomed up against the wire division opposite; a short man with long hair, beard and spectacles and a baseball cap on backwards.  He looked to be in his early thirties at most and was shifting from one foot to the other nervously.

   Mulder opened both eyes and sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to the floor. He studied his cell-mate with interest, but didn't say anything, waiting on developments; his natural caution made him wary of speaking, even to someone who was apparently in the same place for the same reasons as him.

   "Oh, let me guess; you're with that new group, SICARP, right?"  the other man continued, almost babbling with nervous excitement.  He cleared his throat and smiled hesitantly at Mulder, but was a little unnerved by the lack of response.

   "Er - say no more, you're a cautious man - trust no one, very wise!"  He let out a laugh that was almost a giggle, and his eyes slid away from Mulder's for a moment, as if shy of direct scrutiny.  Then he sobered.  "After what happened to JFK, I understand completely.  Oh, let me introduce myself - the name's Max Fenig, I'm with the National Investigative Committee of Aerial Phenomenon."  He pulled his baseball cap around the right way and tilted his head forward so that Mulder could see the legend stitched on the front in bold letters.  "NICAP!" he proclaimed proudly.  Still getting no more reaction than a slight lift of the brows, he stumbled on.  "Er - pleased to make your acquaintance.  Wish we could shake on it - you know, firm grip, look you right in the eye - you learn a lot about a guy that way!  Can - can I ask you a question?"

   "Go ahead," Mulder replied, watching the jumpy little caricature of a man curiously.

   "Did you see anything - did you get close?  Me, I saw _nothing_."  He raised his voice slightly, his eyes behind the thick pebble glasses scanning the ceiling as if they were being watched, although Mulder doubted it.  "I DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING!"  He lowered his voice  again and turned back to Mulder intensely.  "Nada, zip - hundred yards past the roadblock, they nailed me - I've no idea how they did it.  I'm telling you, it's like the Roswell cover-up all over again."

   Mulder stared at him thoughtfully.  "What makes you so sure there's something out there?" he asked after a moment.

   Max laughed again nervously.  "Same thing that makes you so sure?"

   That gave Mulder a pause, and he eyed Max more warily.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

   Max blinked at him in surprise, then chuckled again.  "Well, looking at you ... you're Fox Mulder, right?"

   "I am?"  The question was asked more out of surprise that Fenig would know him than the sarcasm it implied, but Max was a little stung all the same.

   "Sure," he said, rather indignantly.  "I've seen you at a couple of MUFON meetings before - that's why I thought you were here."

   "I'm not a member," Mulder said curtly, and laid back on his cot again.

   "No - no, I know that.  But everyone knows - "

   "Knows _what_?"

   Max backed away from the fence.  "Th-that you were with the FBI," he stammered.  "We followed some of your cases.  Everyone knows you quit because of the cover-ups in the Government."

   Mulder stared at him for a moment, then he let out a snort of laughter.  "Then "everyone" is wrong," he advised Max, amused, and shut his eyes again.

   And people thought _he_ was a nutcase!

XXXX

   The wake-up call was somewhat ruder than Mulder had expected; a sudden harsh groaning of metal as the door was roughly pulled open, followed by a blinding shaft of light pouring directly down onto his face.  He jerked himself upright sharply, squinting briefly at the figure which had appeared in the doorway, and tried to rub some sense into his eyesight.

   Then the door was shut again, and the figure coalesced into a neatly dressed, five foot two woman with auburn hair whom Mulder would have been delighted to see under any other circumstances.  One glance at her glaring blue eyes this morning, though, convinced him that he would be unwise to display any premature signs of pleasure.

   So he fell back on his usual routine; flippancy.

   "I didn't order room service."

   Special Agent Dana Scully folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips angrily for a moment.  "This isn't funny, Mulder."

   No, it certainly wasn't.  What was she doing here anyway?  No way would her superiors have authorised an investigation of _this_ as an X-file.  Mulder searched for a way to deflect her until he could properly get his head sorted out.  "Did you see Max?"

   "Who?"

   Her tone was like the crack of a whip, and he winced inwardly.  Yep, he was definitely in the brown smelly stuff this time, but he continued doggedly.  "Max, from NICAP."  Mulder looked across to Max's cage, but it was empty.  "They must have released him."  He  turned back and offered Scully a small smile.  "Another intrepid soul in search of a close encounter."

   "Is _that_ what this is about?" she demanded, staring at him. 

   "What else?"  The blue eyes were like lasers; Mulder was almost surprised not to feel scorch-marks left behind as they flicked over him.

   "Try explaining that to Skinner for me."

   "Huh?"  Mulder blinked up at her in surprise.

   Scully's expression was angry and let down.  "He told me you were here, and sent me to pick you up.  They contacted your _mother_ , for God's sake, and she didn't know who else to ask for help."

   "Shit - "  Mulder instantly felt nauseous at the thought of his mother's reaction.

   "I don't understand you, Mulder!" Scully burst out.  "Why the hell do you keep taking these risks?  It's not like you have even a shred of official sanction anymore - they could put you away for two years for this, and where would your mother and Sam be then?"

   Mulder, not liking to examine this idea too closely, shied away and dragged the conversation back to his reasons for being there in the first place.  "Oh, c'mon Scully!  Don't tell me you believe that "toxic spill" crap they were putting out?"

   "Oh, you don't?" she retorted sarcastically.  "Why not?"

   "Because I know what I saw, Scully!  There weren't train tracks anywhere near that site, so how could it have been a de-railed container?"

   "Because it wasn't," Scully stated flatly.  "What you saw was not a toxic spill.  But it wasn't a UFO either."

   Mulder's head jerked up at her tone, and his eyes raked over her.  "I'm all ears - what was it?"

   "It was a downed Libyan jet with a nuclear warhead."

   He began to laugh in spite of himself.  "Over _US airspace_?"

   Scully's temper began to rise.  "They've been picking up low-grade levels of radiation, indicating that the plutonium casing may have cracked, so to avoid mass panic - "

   "You really believe that story?" he interrupted scornfully.

   "That story happens to be highly classified!"

   "A highly classified lie."  Mulder glanced up, hearing a helicopter pass overhead.  "Listen to that, Scully - they're searching for someone."

   "If they're searching for anyone, it's probably the pilot," she told him tiredly.

   "Oh, you think they'd roll out all this material for one Libyan fighter-jock?"

   Scully began to pace in front of his cage, trying to keep her anger at him under control.

   "Besides," Mulder continued, losing interest in the argument, "no human pilot walked out of the wreckage I saw."

   "Well, maybe he ejected," she snapped.

   "Maybe."  He rubbed his faced tiredly, and looked up at her.  "So, are you going to get me out of here?"

   Scully's expression tightened, but she turned and banged on the door for the guard.

XXXX

   The flight back to Washington was almost painful.  Mulder tried in vain to initiate neutral topics of conversation, but Scully wasn't having any; she sat rigidly in the seat next to him and stared out of the window without saying anything.

   Finally, in frustration Mulder sat back and closed his eyes, reviewing what had happened mentally.  Which was when one detail, which had passed him by during the heat of the moment, suddenly lit up in his mind.  His eyes popped open in surprise.

   "Scully."

   No reply.  He tried again.  "Scully, why did they contact my mother?"

   For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer; then she turned to stare at him.  "Because she's your next of kin, I suppose.  Who else would they contact?"

   "How about the military police?" he suggested dryly.  "After all, I'm such a dangerous criminal."

   Scully sighed and turned away again.  "Mulder, quite frankly I don't care.  All I know is that it was your mother who contacted Skinner.  I don't know the exact sequence of events."

   Even that seemed odd to Mulder.  Why would she contact Skinner and not, for example, his father or the uncle who handled all her legal affairs?  His mother didn't know Skinner.

   As far as Scully was concerned, though, the subject was closed.  She had more pressing concerns.  "Mulder, you might as well know - Skinner had something else to tell me while I was there.  He seemed to think it was particularly relevant under the circumstances."

   Instantly, Mulder's entire attention was fixed on her.  "Go on."

   "I'm being assigned a partner."  There was a deafening silence at her side, which Scully hastily took advantage of.  "Skinner ... didn't actually say so, but I got the impression he isn't happy that you're involved so much in my work.  So he's assigning a guy from Violent Crimes to partner me whenever I have to go out in the field.  It's not full-time - just back-up I guess."

   Mulder found his voice again, but his mind was reeling.  "Do you know who?"

   "Not yet."  Scully looked down at her lap.  "I got the feeling that detail hadn't been sorted out yet."

   "Jesus."  Now Mulder had something else to worry about at night; the very real possibility that whoever was assigned to Scully might have a hidden agenda.  In a world where the Government actively sought to cover up evidence of extraterrestrial life, with deadly force if necessary, one lone female FBI agent was very vulnerable.  Especially to someone who worked closely with her.  "You should ask for a transfer out of the X-Files," he heard himself say.

   Scully turned her head to fix him with an incredulous look.  " _What_?"

   She got a very sober look in return.  "Scully, being attacked by liver-eating mutants and closing a dozen files a day on bogus poltergeist reports is not worth your time or expertise, and getting killed over supposed UFOs and illegal Government experiments is pointless.  You could do so much better - "

   "Oh, so it's okay for you, a college lecturer and lone parent of a two year old boy, to risk your life chasing supposed UFOs, but it's pointless for me, a female FBI agent?" she interrupted.

   He winced.  "No, I just - "

   "Or is it just that seventy-five percent of agents are male, and therefore my new partner is statistically likely to also be a man?"

   "Hey, what?"  Mulder blinked at her, genuinely startled.  "Where did _that_ come from?"

   Scully stared back at him coolly for a minute or two, arms folded and one brow raised.  The look of confusion on his face was probably genuine, she decided, and let him off the hook.  "Forget I said that," she said, with a slight smile.

   Now he looked perplexed and slightly worried.  Good.  She hadn't forgotten their trip to the Taj Mahal Restaurant a month ago, even if he had.  Halfway through the meal, the management had discreetly swapped the waiters so that a woman was serving them; Mulder's behaviour towards the first one had been ... chilly to say the least.  Scully was prepared to admit that the man had been almost uncomfortably attentive, but then, so had Mulder been once he'd got a look at the cleavage revealed by her new frock.

   He was just as bad as any other man, once you managed to drag his head out of the latest paranormal publication.

   Still, she didn't think he was the type to get jealous for no reason, but it was worth raising the subject just to see the look on his face.  And she genuinely didn't need another Jack Willis in her life - the original was causing a big enough nuisance as it was.

   "Mulder, if you're planning to get over-protective of me, you can drop it now," she warned, only semi-humorous.  "Let me remind you; _I'm_ the one carrying the gun and the badge.  And _you're_ the one who just spent the night in a pre-fabricated military jail for criminal trespass."

   "It wasn't criminal trespass, that land is public property!" he protested.

   "It was quarantined," Scully retorted, exasperated, "and for good reason."

   "Yeah, so they could stash any possible evidence before Joe Public got an eyeful!"

   She stared at him, amazed for the hundredth time at his inability to consider any explanation but the irrational one.  "Mulder, would _you_ want the good citizens of Wisconsin to know that a Libyan fighter pilot was roaming at large in their vicinity?"

   Mulder glared at her.  "I don't know, Scully, but I guess if I was someone high up in the Government or the military, I wouldn't want Chewbacca galumphing around the locality in an uncontrolled manner," he snapped back sarcastically.

   Scully tried unsuccessfully to stifle a snort of laughter at the image this conjured up in her mind.  "Bigfoot is an alien after all?"

   "Fine.  Laugh."  Mulder folded his arms and stared ahead stiffly.

   His expression reminded Scully irresistibly of his son Sam when he threw a tantrum, but she hastily buried the thought.  "Oh Mulder, come on - I was just teasing."  No response.  He glowered at the back of the man's head in front.  "You haven't told me what brought you out here in the first place, anyway."

   "I had some information from reliable friends of mine."

   "Oh?"

   Mulder didn't respond to the question in her voice, and Scully was disappointed but not entirely surprised.  He'd declined to tell her about his sources before, and she wasn't entirely sure whether it was because he didn't trust her or they didn't.  Not really wanting an answer to that question, she'd never pushed the issue, although it had occurred to her a long time ago that although he claimed to be a freelance journalist, and appeared to spend considerable time pursuing that activity, she'd never yet discovered who he sold his stories to.  Come to that, she'd never yet read one of his stories.

   Maybe it was time she did.

XXXX

   Nearly a week passed before Scully saw Mulder again.  This wasn't unusual; given their respective schedules and the fact that she was apt to be out of town a lot these days, meeting up tended to be a little hit and miss.  All the same, she was beginning to wonder exactly what he was up to, for it was unusual for her not to find at least one message on her answering machine from him, and more commonly two or three.

   Arriving home at 6.30 in the evening on the Friday, Scully dumped her bag and coat and pushed the 'play' button on the answering machine in passing, as she went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.  To her surprise, there was only the one message from her mother, and nothing at all from Jack Willis for once.

   No Mulder either.  She briefly debated calling him, but was daunted by the prospect of getting his mother again; on two previous occasions she had spoken with Mrs. Mulder and left messages with the older woman for him to call her back.  Neither message had reached him.  And although he did actually possess a cellphone, for some reason it was almost always switched off.

   Scully sighed.  Okay, maybe she would e-mail him after she ate.  He was probably just piled up with work.

   She changed out of her suit into an outsized sweatshirt and leggings, washed off her make-up, pulled her hair into a tail, and went to investigate the contents of her fridge.  The remnants of a pasta salad and a carton of skimmed milk stared back at her forlornly.

   Fortunately, at that moment the doorbell rang.  Scully answered it, and to her surprise Mulder stood outside.  They stared at each other for moment.

   "Hey," he said finally, rather nonplussed by her stare.

   "Hey," she managed in return.  "I was going to e-mail you."

   "I can go again ...."

   Scully pulled the door open wide and gestured for him to come in.  "Actually, you came at a good moment.  I was just going to order take-out."

   Mulder didn't appear to hear her; he was staring at her chest.  "So that's where my shirt went."

   She peered down at herself, surprised, and registered the crest of the Oxford University ... Polo Team?  "You must have left it here sometime - I'll change it - "

   "No - no, it looks better on you than me.  Did you say take-out?"

   "Uh-huh ...."

   Mulder nodded.  "We'll pick it up on the way back."

   Scully blinked.  "Way back from where?" she demanded.

   He shifted under her sharp gaze uncomfortably.  "There's some people I want you to meet."

XXXX

   "Mulder," Scully began, eyeing the locality they were in with disfavour, "there are three points I think you should consider before we go any further."

   The corner of his mouth twitched, but otherwise his expression remained serious.  "Shoot."

   "If this is another UFO/Government conspiracy theorists' meeting, forget it.  If we're here to speak to a group of down-and-outs who saw a flying saucer land in the locality, forget it.  And if this is your idea of a great place to start spicing up our relationship, you can forget that too."

   Mulder grinned.  "You rate spicing up our relationship third on the list of things you won't do?"

   She gave him look.  "Does it need spicing up?"

   He made a show of considering the matter.  "Maybe we should discuss this elsewhere."

   "Fine.  I'm ready to leave here."

   "Oooh, so keen."  He unbuckled his seatbelt.  "But I'm afraid you'll have to wait; we have a prior appointment."

   Scully peered out of the windshield again at the rather run-down industrial estate.  "Here?" she asked doubtfully.

   "Here," he confirmed.

   "And who do we have this appointment with again?"

   "I didn't mention who they were," Mulder grinned at her.

   "That's what I thought," she muttered, disgruntled, and reluctantly unbuckled her own seatbelt.  "There'd better not be rats or roaches around here, Mulder."

   "Scully, you used to do autopsies for a living; how can you be bothered by something like a roach?"  Mulder locked the car and began to lead the way through the buildings. 

   Scully followed him, treading gingerly around puddles and heaps of refuse.  "I don't know, you're the psychologist," she returned distractedly.  "What is this place, anyway?"

   "Just an industrial estate.  They rent some space here for now."

   "'They'?"

   "Patience!"  Mulder guided her through a door in what looked like an abandoned storage warehouse, and through another door and down some dimly lit stairs.

   Great - a basement.  As if she didn't already spend large portions of her working life in a basement, albeit a more hospitable one than this.  "What's the big secret?" she demanded.

   "Let's just say that these people value their privacy."  At the bottom of the stairs was another door, with a video camera positioned above it and an illuminated key pad to one side.  Mulder pushed a button for a couple of seconds, then stood back to wait, arms folded.

   Scully began to get annoyed.  "I was right, wasn't I?  These people _are_ some kind of UFO nuts after all."

   Mulder pursed his lips noncommittally.  "They run a magazine," he offered.

   She eyed him narrowly.  "This is the magazine you work for?"

   "One of them."

   "UFOs?"

   "Some of it, but not exclusively.  You'll see."

   "Hm.  And why do I want to meet them?" 

   Mulder shrugged.  "Information," he replied cryptically.

   Scully gave him a frustrated glare.  "Are they going to let us in this side of the year 2000?"

   He smiled at her.  "Actually, I think the delay is because they're checking you out.  Why don't you smile for the camera?"

   She took in the lurking twinkle in the hazel eyes and promised herself revenge later.  Then the door clunked open and she forgot all about it.

   "After you," Mulder said gravely, holding the door wide.  She gave him a wary look, but stepped cautiously inside.

   The basement room was large but economically lit and seemed to be stacked from floor to ceiling with an extraordinary range of electronic equipment.  Scully stared wide-eyed at it all, trying vainly to identify the more unfamiliar parts ... which included most of it.  The best she could come up with was that it was surveillance equipment of some kind, and apparently as high-tech as any military base.  But who and what were these people watching with this stuff?  What kind of magazine needed this?

   Then she felt Mulder's hand in the small of her back, gently propelling her past some stacked crates and into a more brightly lit area full of computer monitors and CCTV screens.

   For a moment, Scully was completely caught by all those screens; links to the Internet, weird computer graphics, black-and-white shots of the stairs outside, the warehouse, Mulder's car, someone's office ....

   "Hey, that's my office!" she exclaimed, before she could stop herself, and suddenly three pairs of eyes were fixed on her.

   "So it is," Mulder agreed, peering over her shoulder.  "Guys, I thought I told you to quit surveilling there when I left?"

   "It's not ours," one man said.  He was neatly dressed in a suit and tie, which seemed rather incongruous to Scully considering the surroundings, and had a beard and earnest eyes.  "We're just piggy-backing the security system there.  Someone else put that camera in place."

   "Seriously?"  Mulder leaned closer to the screen to scrutinise it.  "I wonder how long it's been there?  Looks like it's behind those racks on the wall to the right of the door when you come in."

   "We've been monitoring it for nearly three weeks now," the second man volunteered.  He was tall and lanky, like Mulder, but had long straggling blond hair and thick pebble glasses which gave his eyes a perpetually wide-eyed look.

   "Oh yeah?"  Now Mulder's tone held just a hint of menace.  "See anything you like?"

   The third man, who had been sitting with his back to them in a swivel chair, gave a rough chuckle and swung around to look at them both.  He was a little troll of a man, short, overweight, balding and scruffily-dressed, and he gave Scully what he doubtless thought was an ingratiating smile - although it looked more like a leer to her.

   "Let's just say it's made me a happy man," he confirmed with a grin.  He picked up a camera from the table next to him and snapped off a couple of shots of Scully before she could protest, and winked at Mulder.  "She's hot."

   Mulder suppressed a grin and turned back to Scully, who was giving him the evil eye.  "Byers," he said, gesturing to the bearded man, who nodded gravely at her, "Langly," he pointed to the blond one, "and the creep in the chair is Frohike.  They call themselves the Lone Gunmen, after the guy in the Kennedy conspiracy."

   "Charmed, I'm sure," Scully muttered, and wondered how soon she could leave.

   "So this is the lovely Agent Scully - in the flesh at last?" Frohike commented, swinging his chair around a little so that he could prop his feet up on the table.

   Scully ignored him, having more pressing concerns.  "Why is there a camera in my office?" she asked Mulder.  She wasn't sure she wanted an answer, but she had to ask. "And why are they monitoring me?"

   "To the second question, all I can say is - why don't you ask them?" Mulder replied blandly.  "As to the first, I don't know but get used to it.  I was pulling cameras and bugs out of that office twice a week by the time I resigned, and I never did find out who put them there."

   Scully digested this for a moment, and began to get an uneasy feeling in her stomach.  She looked at Byers, who seemed like the safest of the bunch.  "Okay, so why were you watching me?"

   He glanced at the others, and shrugged.  "You took over the X-files; we wanted to see what sort of person you are."

   "A lot of people are interested in what happens to the X-files," Langly put in.  "People not in the FBI.  We had the means to get them that information."

   "Great, so now they all know what stores I buy my suits at," she retorted sardonically.

   The polite laughs she got in response to this were not reassuring.  Even less reassuring was the wicked sparkle in Mulder's eyes as he sat back and watched the confrontation.  Scully eyed him thoughtfully.  "And just how much of this information came from you?" she demanded.

   He grinned at her maddeningly.  "Naturally I told them when you took over the X-files."

   "Naturally," she nodded.  "And ...?"

   "And when he wouldn't give me your e-mail address, I hacked into the FBI Intranet and pulled your personnel file," Frohike put in.

   Scully stared at him disbelievingly, then saw the look on Mulder's face.  "He's kidding, right?" she asked, horrified.

   He winced.  "Well, it wasn't your personnel file, but - "

   "Mulder, no one can just hack into the FBI network!"

   The laughs this time were genuine, and bordered on sniggers.

   "Scully, I hate to break this to you, but people can hack into virtually _anything_ \- all it takes is a little know-how, persistence and luck.  A teenager in England hacked into the US defence systems recently; beside that, the Bureau network is kindergarten stuff."

   Scully began to get angry.  "And just what, exactly, is so fascinating about me to your readers?" she demanded of Frohike.

   He didn't answer, but Byers seemed to take this as a challenge to their integrity.  "We didn't print anything about you," he said rather defensively.  "We just ... checked you out.  There are people within the Government who'd like nothing better than a good reason to set a light to the X-files.  We needed to know if you were there just to keep important issues buried."

   Scully shot Mulder a glance, but his expression was noncommittal once more, so she turned back to Byers.  "Poltergeists and Bigfoot are important issues?" she asked dryly.

   "It's not the supernatural stuff we're interested in," Byers replied dismissively.  "It's the evidence of extensive Government involvement in cases of suspected alien abduction, and the cover-up of cases of downed aircraft of possible extraterrestrial origins - "

   Scully looked at Mulder.  " _This_ is why you got yourself locked in a cage in Wisconsin?"

   "You were right, Mulder - she _is_ sceptical," Frohike observed.

   Mulder ignored him.  "Why don't you just hear what they have to say?" he asked Scully reasonably.

   "I heard it all before, at that whacked-out meeting you took me to after Bellefleur.  And I wasn't impressed with it then."

   He regarded her steadily for a moment, then sighed.  "Okay - you carry on believing it was a Libyan jet, if that makes you feel more comfortable."

   Frohike looked up at this and gave Scully a look of genuine surprise.  "You don't believe that story, do you?"

   "And why wouldn't I?" she asked irritably, tired and fed up.

   He exchanged curious glances with his colleagues, who both looked equally startled. 

   "Because it's the most transparent story they've come up with since "hey, folks - it was just a weather balloon"," Langly managed, after a moment.  "If it was a Libyan jet, they'd have been jumping up and down on every news broadcast across the country by now, and selling pictures of the wreckage to the papers.  Instead - nada."

   "Maybe it's not a good idea to let the residents of the area know there was possibly a fractured nuclear warhead in the area - "

   "That aircraft wasn't carrying a nuclear warhead, Scully," Mulder sighed wearily.  He'd never met anyone so stubborn.

   "Oh yeah?"

   "Frohike, have you got those pictures I took?"

   Scully eyed him suspiciously.  "I thought you said they confiscated your camera?"

   He smiled.  "They did, but they didn't get the film."

   "Excuse me, but wouldn't they have noticed if the film was missing?  And I thought you were searched?"

   "You know, I had a bulldog like you once," Frohike told her admiringly.  "He never let go of anything either."

   Mulder swallowed a laugh, seeing death in Scully's expression.  "The only film they got was the one with the pictures of my cousin Nathan's bar mitzvah on it," he told her, "and as for the other one ... well, let's just say I was very creative.  Fortunately, they didn't strip-search me."

   As he'd thought, the implication was enough to keep Scully occupied for a moment, and in the meantime Langly whipped out a bunch of black-and-white pictures.  He presented them to Scully and waited hopefully as she scanned through the pile.

   Mulder was less hopeful; he could see her expression, and while it might look blank to some, he knew better.

   Finally she sighed and looked up at him.  "What I see here, Mulder, are a lot of shots of guys suited up in safety gear, performing standard hazardous waste containment procedures on a pile of anonymous wreckage.  There's nothing here to say what the wreckage was, because it's too damaged."

   "So it doesn't have to be a Libyan jet," he prodded gently.

   "No," she agreed mildly, "but it doesn't have to be a downed UFO either, and on the balance of probabilities - "

   "Scully, do me a favour, will you?  Take another look at that wreckage."

   She pursed her lips, but complied.  "Okay.  What am I looking for?"

   "The size of the pieces of fuselage.  If it _is_ what we would call fuselage."

   Now her lips twitched, but she did as he said.  "And?"

   " _And_ look at the size of it.  You said they quarantined the area because there was possibly a fractured nuclear warhead on board.  Does anything you see in those pictures look big enough to disguise the said warhead?"  Mulder folded his arms, watching her.  "Scully, if there was a warhead on board that 'Libyan jet', the whole world would know about it by now, because no way could it have survived that kind of impact in one piece, let alone be 'fractured'."

   Scully put the photos down and folded her own arms, staring back at him uncompromisingly.  "Mulder, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but science doesn't stand still.  Nuclear devices, especially armaments such as a jet would be carrying, are getting smaller every day - "

   The collective groan that met this statement heated her temper, although Mulder merely sat back, resigned.

   "Then what can I say?" he asked her.  "If you are so determined not to see ...."

   Scully shook her head.  "Mulder, it's not my inability to see that's the problem here.  It's _your_ desperate need to believe."

   "Or desperate need for something," Frohike suggested - and let out a startled 'oof' as Mulder thumped him.

XXXX

   "Those were the most paranoid people I have ever met," Scully told Mulder half an hour later, as she unlocked her apartment door and flicked the lights on.  She walked straight through to the kitchen, leaving him to juggle a bulging plastic bag from the supermarket and a small stack of take-out cartons.  "I don't know how you can find anything they say remotely credible."

   "Oh, I don't know," he replied, managing to shut the door behind him with one foot - but carefully, knowing how sensitive she was about her paintwork.  He had noticed that it seemed to be a universal female trait.  "I think it's remotely credible that someone might think you're hot."

   She gave him the evil eye as he dumped the groceries and take-out on her kitchen table, but he only grinned.  "You're just sore because Byers ripped up your money."

   "Mulder, it was a twenty!  They don't grow on trees, you know - some of us work for a living.  Besides," and Scully began to decant the contents of the bag into the fridge and various cupboards, "I do not believe the Government is keeping track of the general public's money and movements via the scanners at the airport.  I mean, what's the point, for crying out loud?  And come to that, why on earth am I keeping your favourite brand of iced tea in my refrigerator?"

   Mulder blinked at the sudden change of subject and tried to kick his brain up a gear.  He had a hard time keeping up with Scully when she was in this kind of mood.  "Because you love me?" he suggested, a little rashly.

   She paused, a bottle in each hand, and raised a quelling brow.  "That isn't the first answer that comes to mind, Mulder."

   "Well, if you feel like that - "  He reached over and made to take the bottles from her, but she pulled them back out of reach.

   "Uh huh.  I paid for these."  She stashed them in the fridge, then went to one of the cupboards and pulled out a couple of plates, which she put in front of him.  "You know where the cutlery drawer is - dish up while I check my mail, will you?"

   "Yes dear," he replied meekly. 

   Scully snorted and left the kitchen. 

   When Mulder followed her with the food ten minutes later - having paused to give the food a quick blast in the microwave for good measure ("No sense in being blamed for cold food," he told himself) - Scully was standing by the reading lamp with her glasses on, fiddling pensively with the mouse from her computer.

   He slid the two plates carefully onto the coffee table, and looked across at her.  "What's the problem?"

   "Oh, nothing."  Scully was unscrewing the base of the mouse carefully.  "This thing's been giving me trouble for a couple of days now - either it doesn't run smoothly or ...." 

   Her voice trailed off and Mulder's brows drew together in a slight frown.  Scully's face had gone blank with shock.

   "Scully?"

   She turned mutely and held the palm-sized device out to him; he stood up quickly and went to look.  Inside the plastic cover of the mouse was a small piece of electronic gadgetry which was most definitely not part of its usual workings. 

   A bug.

   Two hours later, the two of them wearily slumped down on the sofa amid the random disorder of what had been Scully's neat little apartment.  On the table, between two forgotten and congealed plates of lo mein, was a small pile of disassembled circuits.

   They'd found five listening devices in all.  The one that bothered Scully the most had been inside her bedside reading lamp.  It bothered Mulder to find one in the bedroom too, although he would never admit it.

   "Do you think we found them all?" she asked in a small voice, at length.

   Mulder opened his mouth to reassure her - and realised that he couldn't bring himself to voice what would more than likely be a lie.  "I can arrange for the place to be swept," he offered instead.

   That she agreed almost immediately was an indication of how rattled Scully was.  She knew who the 'arrangement' would be with.  There was a dismal silence for a moment, then something else occurred to her.  "What about my office?"

XXXX

   Monday morning found Scully walking as confidently into the VCS bullpen as she could.  It wasn't easy; her departure from the mainstream dealings of the Bureau hadn't been smooth, despite her best attempts to keep her relationship with her former colleagues friendly.  The Tooms case had put Tom Colton against her for a start, and he was not a man to keep his grievances to himself.

   Scully wondered what the reaction to today's little visit would be.  Under the circumstances, she imagined it would add quite a bit to the rumour mill.

   Her new partner.  That had been the last subject on her mind when she entered the building this morning, but Skinner had caught her on the way to the elevator and diverted her into his office to give her the good news.  Such as it was.

   Scully had very real reservations about this; not least that this guy - an Agent Castamir - could be a complete jerk, with an eye to the main chance like Tom Colton.  He could be a disaster, someone no one else in the Bureau wanted under their command. 

   Or he could be someone planted to keep an eye on her and report back to their superiors on her work.

   She grimaced.  Mulder had pointed out once that if they saddled her with a partner, the chances were he would either be a plant or someone who wouldn't take the work seriously, and either one could get her killed in a situation like - for example - the Tooms case.

   Mulder, of course, was paranoid.

   Scully gave herself a mental shake and strode into the VCS offices confidently.  There was only one way to find out what this guy was like, and that was to meet him.

   She ignored the stares and muttered conversation as she crossed the room.  She knew where he'd be; all newcomers to the VCS got shoved into the smallest, most poorly lit corner of the room when they first arrived, the idea being that you worked your way out into a better seating position.  Scully herself had been put there when she first arrived at the Hoover building from Quantico.

   Sure enough, the rickety desk was already sporting a cardboard box full of personal items, only a few of which had been laid out as yet, and a dark navy suit jacket was slung over the back of the ancient chair.  Of Agent Castamir himself there was nothing to be seen.

   Scully hesitated, glancing around at her former colleagues, none of whom made a move to greet her or even acknowledge her presence, and decided she'd better wait.  She sat down gingerly on the chair, not having yet forgotten the dangerous list it developed for the unwary - really, it was worse than Mulder's old chair down in the basement, with its wobbly wheel - and glanced casually at the few bits her new, if part-time, partner had managed to set out on the desk before he was called away.

   There was a small desk calendar, with a picture of Magritte's "The Future of Statues" on it.  A coffee mug with Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote.  And a couple of photographs in studio cardboard frames, one of which was instantly recognisable as an Academy class photo.  Scully picked it up and studied it curiously.

   Then she felt a sudden jolt in her stomach and looked closer.  She had no idea which of the men in the picture was Agent Castamir, but one face in the back row jumped out at her.

   It was Mulder, fresh-faced and improbably earnest in his standard Bureau-approved suit.  His hair was shorter, and he was some six or seven years younger, but she would have known him anywhere.

   Mulder and Castamir had been classmates?

   "Pretty criminal line-up, huh?" an amused voice said at her elbow.

   Scully jumped and looked around.  A tall man with very short, very tightly curled blond hair was grinning at her amiably; he had a pleasant face and rather piercing grey eyes, but two other details struck her most forcibly.

   He had an indefinable air of ... mischief about him, which was particularly noticeable in that grin; and he had the most diabolical taste in ties.

   Just like Mulder.  Oh God.

   Scully got a grip on her composure with an effort, and stood up, offering her hand.  "Agent Castamir?  I'm Agent Scully.  AD Skinner said you'd be working with me occasionally."

   He clasped the hand firmly, looking impossibly cheerful for someone who'd been shipped into the VCS, apparently in some disgrace wherever he came from.  "Nice to meet you - and please, it's Jerry."

   Scully smiled uneasily, extricating her hand from his grip, but did not reciprocate with her own name.  She honestly wasn't sure what to make of him yet, and didn't feel like getting too chummy too soon.

   He didn't seem to notice her unease, but instead gestured to the photo on the desk.  "See anyone you know?"  He raised a brow at her.

   That sounded suspiciously like fishing.  "Only my predecessor in the X-Files Division," Scully replied coolly, deciding to be blunt.  She might as well find out his opinion sooner rather than later.

   Castamir wasn't fazed.  "Fox Mulder?  Great guy - pity he had to quit."  Oddly enough, his regret sounded genuine.

   "Did you know him well?" she asked curiously.

   Jerry Castamir smiled wryly.  "Pretty well.  We were partners for about six months while he was here in the VCS, and I knew him before from the BSU."

   Only practice kept Scully from gaping at him, and a thousand questions ran screaming around her mind.  Fortunately, it was the single intelligent one which made its way to her mouth.  "You're a profiler?  Then what ...."  She shut her mouth hastily before a really rude and intrusive question popped out, but the rest of the sentence hung between them.

_Then what are you doing here?_

   Castamir's eyes sparkled wickedly.  "I'm a bad boy," he murmured confidentially, and his eyes slid around to scan his fellow agents.

   Several heads quickly vanished back behind the low partitions which surrounded some of the desks.

   Scully beat down the urge to ask in what way he'd been "bad" and told herself sternly that she was clearly going to have to keep an eye on this guy, for her own peace of mind.  She folded her arms and got back to business.  "Have you been told anything about this assignment?" she asked.

   He straightened up and his expression became serious.  "Officially - no.  Unofficially, I've been told to watch the sky for visitations."

   "Hm."  Scully eyed him warily, and decided she couldn't resist just one little tweak of his tail.  Associating with Mulder had given her some bad habits.  "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials, Agent Castamir?"

   Castamir eyed her back as though he suddenly wasn't quite sure what to make of her.  He gave her a nervous grin.  "You're kidding me, right?"

   Scully heaved an inner sigh of relief.  _Thank God, he's not a UFO loon._   "Come on," she smiled.  "If you're not busy, you can come take a look at the office.  And there's a job I'd really appreciate your help with."

XXXX

   "This was Mulder's office before he left?" Castamir asked in a slightly disbelieving tone.

   Scully glanced across at him as she switched the lamp on her over desk and dropped her bag onto the chair.  "Yes - why?"

   He was looking around with some amusement.  "It's too tidy."

   "I've been here for a few months now."

   "That explains it."  He found the cast of Bigfoot's footprint and examined it interestedly.  "Mulder could never work in anything short of a crap-heap, at least when I worked with him.  The only time I saw his desk clean was when we had some new desks delivered and he had to move everything.  Half an hour, and it was buried under paper again."  Castamir put the cast back on the shelf and wandered over to look at the "I Want To Believe" poster opposite Scully's desk.  "I never did break him of spitting seed shells on the floor," he added over his shoulder.

   "If it's not an indelicate question, Agent Castamir - "

   "Jerry," he corrected absently.

   "Okay ... Jerry," Scully agreed, although she still wasn't sure she wanted to be on first name terms with him.  "If it's not an indelicate question, how come you're in the VCS at all if you're a profiler?"

   "Because I was really only an okay profiler," he replied equably enough.  "I was never brilliant, like Mulder was, and the mighty Patterson only wanted the really bright boys on his team.  So I transferred out.  I've been in Denver for the last three years, but I had ... a little trouble recently and took a prejudicial transfer."

   Fair enough.  Scully decided against prying any further; she'd done a similar thing herself not long ago and had preferred not to discuss it.  Castamir's career was his own business.

   Besides, she still had a very important matter to deal with, and two heads - and pairs of hands - were better than one.  She dug a small penlight out of her drawer and went over to the shelves near the door.  As she recalled, the perspective had been from this angle ....

   "Can I ask what you're looking for?" Castamir asked after a moment, watching curiously as she stood on tiptoe and peered between a pile of files at the wall behind.

   "If I find it, you'll see," Scully replied, her voice a little muffled.

   "Had you considered switching the main light on in here?  It might help."

   "Can't, I'm waiting for Maintenance to bring a new striplight."

   "Oh."  He watched her, with a perplexed look on his face and a slowly dawning twinkle of amusement in his eyes.  "Can I help?"

   "I just - ah!"  Scully stood back, breathless and triumphant, clutching something in one hand.  "Found it." 

   "Found what?"

   She tossed him the device and waited to see what his reaction would be.  She was not disappointed.

   Shock and bemusement crossed Jerry Castamir's face in equal measures.  "Is it ....  It's a video camera.  Isn't it?"

   "That's right," Scully said grimly.

   "But - why was it behind your shelves?"

   "I don't know.  I'm open to ideas.  Mulder tells me he was pulling them out of this office all the time."

   It was about that time that Agent Castamir began to wonder if he wanted to be involved in Agent Scully's work ... not that he actually had much choice in the matter.  He put the little camera down on the corner of her desk and gave her an uncertain look.  "You said there's a job you want my help with."

   Scully nodded.  "I need you to help me search this office for any more little hidden surprises."

XXXX

   An hour or so later, they'd put the office back to rights and Scully was brewing coffee in the little percolator she had inherited from Mulder.

   Jerry was looking over the small collection of bugs they'd found rather pensively.  "Does this kind of thing happen often?" he asked, with a feeble attempt at cheer.

   "No," Scully sighed.  She felt rather discouraged herself.  "This is a new development for me.  Mulder and I fished half a dozen of the things out of my apartment Friday night - I guess it makes a change from going to the movies."

   He looked up at her a little sharply when she said that.  "You must know him pretty well."

   Scully smiled in spite of herself.  "Stick around, and listen to the rumour mill."

   Jerry flushed.  "I didn't mean - "

   She put a mug of coffee in front of him.  "It's okay.  Did you know his wife?"

   "Thanks.  Yeah, I knew Phoebe, though not in the Biblical sense.  I was about the only guy who didn't, mind you."  He changed the subject quickly.  "I've never seen the kid - do you know what he's like?"

   "Sam?"  Scully felt a silly grin beginning to cross her face.  "He's ... well, he's a lot like Mulder, really.  To look at, I mean."

   "Nose and all, huh?" Jerry grinned.

   She chuckled in spite of herself.  "I guess.  He's a sweet little boy, really cute."

   "Nothing like his mother, then," her new partner grunted.

   Scully was suddenly sobered by this sour comment.  She looked at Jerry thoughtfully.  "You know, I've heard bits and pieces about Phoebe, but I don't really know much about her.  What was she like?"

   He looked her straight in the eye, and Scully was stunned at the depth of remembered disgust and anger she saw there. 

   "Phoebe Green was one of the most poisonous bitches I've ever met," he said quietly.  "I mean that.  What she put Mulder through was unforgivable, and I swear to God if I ever get my hands on her, I'll break her neck.  It never surprised _me_ that she was bent - what does amaze me is how long it took them to find her out."

XXXX

   Across the city at Georgetown University, Mulder had just finished his first class of the morning and was heading for his small office to grab a coffee and pick up his papers for the second.

   He was running a few minutes ahead, so he took the opportunity to stop and log into his e-mail programme.  Lunch with Scully was a tempting idea, since he had the hour straight after free, and he wanted to find out how her de-bugging session had gone that morning.

   But when he opened his mail, all thoughts of lunch abruptly left his head.  There was a message from Frohike waiting for him.

 

    From:    Crazihorse@notthere.com

    To:      FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

    Subject: Stuff.

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    Some people should get themselves less obvious e-mail

    addys, if they want to avoid their mail being hacked.

    By the way, your work-related mail is very boring,

    did you know that?

       Have got something that will blow your mind, see

    attachments, and will swap for intimate details of

    certain hot red-heads; i.e. is it real or Clairol?

       See you later.

    F.

 

   Mulder shook his head ruefully and wheeled his cursor to the 'open attachments' prompt.  The machine thought about it for a moment - it wasn't as powerful as the one he had at home - then brought up the attached file.

   It was a portion of a newspaper article, and Mulder's mouth went dry when he saw it.

   Lunch with Scully would have to wait.

XXXX

   Making time to go and see the Gunmen meant that Mulder was decidedly late home from work that night, which was not a good thing given the state of his son's temper when deprived of his evening meal.  A chocolate chip cookie from Frohike had only gone so far towards pacifying the little boy, and now the need to get home and feed his offspring was getting pressing.

   Pulling the car into the driveway, Mulder hopped out and went to unlock Sam's door and get him out.

   "Mr. Mulder."

   Mulder jerked around, his hand going automatically to his hip for a weapon which he hadn't carried in over two years.  Obviously some habits died really hard.  "Who - "

   A man stepped out of the shadows beside the garage and into the beam of the security light over the front door of the house, which had flicked on when Mulder got out of the car.  He was middle-aged, some five or six inches shorter than Mulder, with a craggy face, greyed and receding hair, and was wearing a nondescript beige trenchcoat which he kept firmly wrapped about himself against the cold.

   Mulder was struck silent for a moment, wondering who the hell he was and what he was doing lurking casually around his mother's rhododendrons at this time of night.  Whoever the man was, he seemed perfectly at his ease.  His appearance and demeanour looked vaguely official, reminding younger man of some of the higher-ups at the FBI; but he doubted anyone within the Bureau hierarchy would be contacting him these days, least of all in this cloak-and-dagger manner.

   The man made no greeting nor any attempt to introduce himself; his first words were blunt and to the point.  "Leave this case alone, Mr. Mulder."

   Mulder's brows snapped together at once in consternation.  "What?"

   "The military will not tolerate a journalist poking his nose into their affairs," the man warned, "least of all one who is a former FBI agent with connections to a decidedly dubious section within the Bureau."

   "Who are you?" Mulder demanded, wondering what the hell this guy thought he was playing at.  And how did he know about the information Byers, Langly and Frohike had passed to him less than an hour ago?

   The question was met with a faint, world-weary smile.  "I - ah - can be of help to you, and I've had a certain interest in your work in the past," was the reply.

   "How do you know about my work?" Mulder wanted to know, suspicious.

   The man's brows drew together.  "Let's just say I'm in a position to know quite a lot of things - including things about our Government."

   Not very reassuring.  "Who are you?  Who do you work for?"

   "That's not important.  I came here to give you some valuable advice.  You are exposing yourself and Agent Scully to unnecessary risks.  I advise you to drop this case."

   Mulder's suspicions grew.  "I can't do that," he replied.

   The man shook his head regretfully, and began to turn to go.  "You have much work to do, Mr. Mulder.  Don't jeopardise the future of your own efforts."  He began to walk away down the driveway.

   "Hey, wait a minute - !"  Mulder made to follow him, but was briefly distracted by a very restless and disgusted Sam who was kicking his feet and banging on the inside of the rear passenger door, wanting to be let out.  "Hold on, Sam!"

   He turned to follow the mysterious stranger, but the man was gone.

   "What the hell - ?"  Mulder ran down the drive and looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of anyone around.  His visitor had apparently vanished into thin air.

   "Shit!"  He turned back and jogged up the drive.  Sam had now added his voice to his protest, and Mulder didn't want the little menace bringing the neighbours out. 

   "Alright, alright!"  He unlocked the door and unfastened the buckles that strapped Sam into the child-seat.  The little boy scrambled out and ran up to the front door while his father scooped up a stack of papers from the back seat and locked the vehicle up.

   "Hungry, Daddy!"

   "Yeah, well you'll have to wait a little longer.  Fish doesn't cook itself in five minutes." 

   Mulder found his door key and let them in.  The house was in darkness; evidently his mother had decided to go out for the evening - again.  He flicked on the lights and dumped his papers in the study, then went to the kitchen and switched the oven on to warm up.

  1. Meanwhile one half of his brain was keeping an ear out for Sam, who was rattling around in one of the other rooms, while the other half was constantly turning over the conversation he'd had with the man outside.



   Two points stuck out most clearly; that the enigmatic stranger appeared to know about the information passed to him by the Lone Gunmen - although it hadn't taken Mulder long to note that he had, in fact, spoken only in generalisations - and that he was warning Mulder that he was placing himself and Scully at risk.

   Mulder chewed on his lip, examining that second point again.  The man had seemed perfectly serious.  He had also seemed ... non-threatening, even by Mulder's rather paranoid standards; disturbingly genuine.

   He suddenly became aware that Sam was being very quiet - always a warning sign.

   "Sam, what are you doing?"

   No reply.  Mulder took a quick look at his pans, decided he could safely leave them for a minute, and quickly went to see what his son was up to.

   In the living room, Sam was balancing precariously on a chair, while trying to reach the telephone where it stood on cabinet which was too high for him to reach from the floor.  He loved the telephone, and had recently run up an enormous bill by dialling random numbers before Mrs. Mulder caught him.

   "What are you doing?!"  Mulder snatched him off the chair unceremoniously; Sam squealed indignantly and got a swat on the rear for his pains.  "Don't ever let me catch you doing that again!"  He put the little boy on the floor and Sam retreated behind the arm of the sofa, his full lower lip - so much like Mulder's own - wobbling ominously.

   Mulder checked the telephone, but it appeared to be untouched.  Then he noticed that the light on the answering machine was blinking steadily.  Giving Sam an admonitory glare, he rewound the tape and set it to play back.  There were two messages, the first being from a friend of his mother.

   The second was nothing but a full minute of silence, followed by a couple of odd clicks ... and then nothing.

   Mulder stared at the machine for a moment, aware that every muscle in his body had suddenly gone rigid.  He wasn't sure why, but the oddity of that recording made him very nervous; and for some strange reason it reminded him of Scully's unexpected discovery of a bug in her PC's mouse.

   Stiffly, he picked up the receiver of the telephone and examined it carefully, before unscrewing the mouthpiece.  There was nothing there - but then, he supposed, there wouldn't be.  It was the most obvious place in the world, after all. 

   But just because the telephone wasn't bugged didn't mean the rest of the house wasn't.  He could have kicked himself for not thinking of that long before now.

   Mulder replaced the receiver grimly, and turned to see Sam peering at him apprehensively from behind the sofa.  And in a well-timed reminder, the oven's buzzer sounded.

   "Come on, Sunshine, dinner's ready."

   But although Sam wolfed down his fish, mashed potatoes and peas with a healthy appetite, it was all his father could do to force his own portion down.

_You are exposing yourself and Agent Scully to unnecessary risks._

   Mulder didn't feel he could give up his investigation this quickly.  And in all honesty, he didn't see any reason for this particular inquiry to be any riskier than, say, the one in Bellefleur where he'd met Scully. 

   But he wasn't sure, and so for that reason he decided to abandon his original plan to show Scully the information the Gunmen had passed to him.  Besides, after what had happened in Wisconsin, he wasn't sure she'd be interested in helping him out anyway.

XXXX

   Not hearing from Mulder for a few days in a row was something Scully was used to, so it didn't bother her much when he didn't contact her for the better part of a week.  She was pretty busy herself, what with introducing Agent Castamir to the X-files, acquainting him with the details of some of her recent cases, and struggling with a small mountain of paperwork which had mysteriously landed on her desk while she was in Wisconsin retrieving Mulder.

   The weekend came around again before it occurred to her that she hadn't seen him in a while, and then it was only a passing thought; she sent him a brief e-mail, and arranged to meet her sister for shopping and lunch on Saturday when he didn't reply.

   Scully didn't see much of her sister Melissa now they were adults, which - she had to ruefully admit - was probably a good thing for both of them.  Missy was without a doubt the family rebel; two years older than Dana, she had noisily abandoned the catholic faith at fourteen and proceeded to follow a course which brought her into endless conflict with their father and never failed to set the entire family by the ears.  She had left home shortly after graduating from college, to 'travel', and thereafter only alighted on the family doorstep at irregular intervals.  For the moment she was back home, probably even for Christmas, but for how long after that was anyone's guess.

   Given that Melissa was heavily into New Age philosophies, and also strong-minded and rather opinionated, she and Dana only got along for limited periods before they inevitably brushed each other up the wrong way.  Then there would be a dignified parting of ways, the cause of which was generally forgotten by the time they next met.

   Scully had consequently forgotten what had caused them to come to blows the last time they met, and was eager to meet up and just natter for a few hours.  They spent a long while trawling through the malls and spending money on early Christmas gifts for family and friends, then landed up in a cafe for some much-needed tea and pastries.

   "So ...."  Melissa Scully broke off a small piece of her almond danish and looked at her younger sister over the teapot.  "What will you be doing at Christmas?"

   Scully toyed with her own sweet pastry, smiling a little.  "I'll go to Mom and Dad's, of course, to do my duty as a maiden aunt and take care of Bill's kids while he and Tara relax for a while."

   Melissa made a disgusted noise.  "Honestly, Dana ...!  Get a life, find yourself a man, and tell Bill where to get off this year.  You're not an unpaid nanny they can dump the kids with whenever they feel like a break.  It's _Christmas_ , for crying out loud - it's your holiday too."

   "I don't mind!" Scully protested.  "Really - I love seeing the kids - "

   Her sister made a rude noise.  "Bill makes use of you, and tells himself he's doing you a favour," she pointed out brutally.  "You know as well as I do that he thinks - "

   "Melissa, please."

   Melissa paused, frustrated, but seeing Dana's tight expression, she reluctantly abandoned the touchy subject she'd been about the raise.  "I still think you need to get yourself a man," she pointed out irritably after a moment.

   Scully laughed in spite of herself.  "I think I can manage that without anyone's help, Missy."

   "Huh."  Her sister stared at her broodingly.  "You're not still seeing that jerk Willis, are you?"

   Scully's eyes flicked up, surprised.  "I haven't been out with Jack in nearly two years."

   Melissa grunted.  "Good.  That guy was a freaky experience waiting to happen.  I wouldn't be surprised if you told me he was stalking you."

   "Well ...."

   "Please don't tell me he did!"

   "Not quite, but he got pretty pushy."  Scully saw her sister's expression and quickly sorted through the various incidents that had dogged her break-up from Jack Willis, trying to find a few examples which would illustrate the events sufficiently without alarming Melissa.  If she was honest with herself, Willis's endless telephone calls and e-mail messages almost constituted harassment, but she didn't want to worry her family.

   Before she could speak, however, there was an unexpected interruption.

   "DAY!"

   Scully looked around, startled by the shriek of a familiar voice, and found little Sam Mulder hurtling towards her.  He threw himself into her lap, giggling excitedly, and instantly began to size up the contents of the table with a complete lack of concern for the company. 

   "Sam!"

   Familiar with his behaviour, Scully quickly wrestled him into a sitting position on her lap, where she could keep control of his inquisitive hands, and looked around for Mulder himself, convinced that he couldn't be far behind.  But there was no sign of him.

   "Sam!  Sam, what are you doing here?" she asked the little boy. 

   Melissa, who was watching wide-eyed and amused as the dark-haired cherub investigated everything within arms length, quickly moved the hot water jug out of his reach and gave him a paper napkin to shred instead.

   "Shoppin'," Sam announced happily, rapidly reducing the napkin to confetti.

   Scully's brows drew together, and she looked around again.  Still no Mulder.  He was probably tearing his hair out somewhere in the mall, looking for the tyke.  "Where's daddy, sweetheart?" she asked.

   Sam craned his neck backwards so he could peer up at her.  "Gone."

   "Gone where?"

   The small brow furrowed as he considered the question.  "Gone see the flyin' sawzers," he told her, and made a curious sweeping gesture in the air with his hands.

   It took Scully a moment to realise that he must be mimicking Mulder's own explanation to him.  Then she felt a sharp jab of alarm in her stomach.  What the hell was Mulder up to now?

   "Flying saucers?" she repeated.

   "Yep.  Gonna take pictures for Uncle Fro."  Sublimely unconscious of the effect his words had had on his audience, Sam helped himself to the rest of Scully's danish pastry.

   "SAMUEL!"

   Melissa looked at her sister with an expression of alarm combined with amusement.  "Dana, I think the nursery patrol just arrived," she warned.

   A slender, dark-haired woman appeared out of the crowd, dragging a little girl behind her.  When she saw that Sam was in the company of two quite respectable females, she relaxed a little, but not much.  Seeing her expression, however, Scully moved quickly to forestall trouble. 

   "It's okay," she said hastily.  "I know Sam's father."  She scanned the other woman's familiar features and remembered Mulder telling her once or twice that his cousin sometimes babysat for him.  "Are you Annie?  Mulder's cousin?"

   Annie Rosens paused, a little thrown by this.  "Yes, but - "

   "I'm Dana Scully.  Mulder's a friend of mine, so Sam knows me quite well."

   Sam looked up, covered in icing and pastry flakes, and nodded vigorously.  "Day," he said, as if this explained everything.

   Annie's expression relaxed into one of curiosity.  "You're Dana?"  She hesitantly took the spare seat Melissa obligingly pulled out for her, and pulled her little girl - who looked to be about four years old - into her lap.  "Oh, I'm so pleased to meet you at last!  Fox has told us so much about you."

   Scully could feel the colour flooding her cheeks, and tried to ignore her sister's look of avid enquiry.  "I wish I could say the same," she replied, embarrassed.

   To her surprise, Annie laughed.  "Oh, Fox wouldn't tell you about the family - he says we should all be certified and locked away."

   "He's a fine one to talk!" Scully retorted before she could stop herself, but that only made the other woman laugh more.  "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "where is he?  Sam says he's hunting flying saucers.  I was wondering why I hadn't heard from him in a while."

   Annie nodded, her expression rueful.  "Someone gave him a newspaper clipping, about experimental aircraft I think, and he was off again.  He brought Sam to stay with me, because the last time he went off, he got into some kind of trouble and Aunt Rachel - that's his mother - got a little hysterical about it."  She looked amused.  "I don't suppose it was anything nearly as bad as she said, and besides, Fox is a grown man - he can look after himself."

   Scully thought it prudent not to say anything at this point.  It was obvious Mulder's cousin had little idea what he really got up to when he "went off", which was probably just as well.

   She, on the other hand, had a pretty good idea what he got up to, and suddenly every nerve was itching with the need to chase after him ... despite her not having a clue where he'd gone.

XXXX

   It was a sign of just how much Melissa was trying not to offend Dana that she managed to _not_ ask her any questions until they got home, even though she was bursting to do so.  Scully, for her part, was desperately praying her mother had a houseful of guests so that she could dump Melissa and skulk away before the inquisition started.

   She was in luck.  Maggie Scully was drinking tea at the kitchen table with two of the Scully aunts, and with any luck Missy would remember to keep her tongue between her teeth while the nosy old biddies were in earshot.

   Cries of pleasure resounded as the two young women walked in, burdened with purchases.  Melissa's eyes shot meaningful daggers at her sister even as she fielded the rather tentative queries from Aunt Rose and Aunt Claudia over what she had been doing with herself over the past year.  Dana avoided the looks and prepared to spend a lot of time talking to her aunts - forever if necessary - so Melissa settled down and resigned herself to a couple of hours of meaningless chatter.

   Scully's mind was only half on what was going on; the other half was frantically engaged in making and discarding plans to discover Mulder's whereabouts.  She was disinclined to wait for Skinner to inform her a second time, and the prospect of knocking on Mrs. Mulder's door was unappealing despite the distinct possibility that the clues she needed were somewhere on Mulder's hard-drive at home.  That left only two possible avenues that she could see.  The first was going to Georgetown University and flashing her badge around until someone gave her access to Mulder's work PC.  The second was trying to contact the Lone Gunmen.

_Go with option one,_ Scully told herself, shuddering inwardly.

   "Dana?"

   "Huh? - Oh, I'm sorry."  She gave herself a mental shake and met the enquiring eyes of both her mother and two aunts.  "What did you say?"

   "I _said_ ," Aunt Claudia repeated, "are you going to be on your own this Christmas, Dana honey, or will you invite a friend?"

   That was a loaded question if ever she'd heard one.  Scully hesitated, uncertain exactly what she could say that wouldn't set the pair of them twittering or exchanging meaningful looks; and Melissa, who had been waiting for just such an opportunity, stepped neatly into the gap.

   "Maybe you should invite Fox," she suggested blandly.

   Aunt Rose actually dropped her macaroon in surprise; and three pairs of eyes fixed on Scully with varying degrees of surprise and sudden interest.  Melissa merely smiled sweetly at her sister's outraged glare.

_Next time, tell me,_ the look said.

_Next time I'll kill her,_ Scully thought bitterly.

XXXX

   Finding Mulder proved to be even more difficult than Scully had anticipated. Visiting Georgetown University elicited the information that he'd taken three days of personal time, starting on the previous Friday, and that he hadn't told anyone what he had planned.  Examination of his office had proven fruitless, and his PC, although easily accessed, had contained nothing of value - it was nearly all work-related.

   Scully returned to the office, discouraged and worried.  Mulder had gone off like this before, even prior to Wisconsin, but he generally left her a message giving some sort of explanation, even if the details were sketchy.

   Jerry Castamir was waiting for her. 

   "Say, are we ever actually going to pick a case and work on it?" he asked, as she dumped her bag and coat.  "It's just that whenever I go back upstairs, Craythorpes keeps muttering about people who do no work." 

   When there was no reply, he took a good look at her and his brows snapped together.  "Are you okay?  What's up?"

   Scully hesitated for a moment, then decided she might as well tell him.  "Mulder's gone off somewhere - I don't know where, but he's chasing UFOs again.  Something to do with experimental aircraft."

   Jerry's brow furrowed.  "Doesn't he do this all the time?  It's his hobby, isn't it?"

   "Yes, but ...."  Scully rubbed her forehead wearily.  "The last time he did this, he got arrested by the military for breaching a quarantined area.  And this time, he didn't even bother to tell me he was going off.  He usually does, even if he doesn't tell me where."

   The other agent gave this some thought.  "You don't have any clues where he might be?"

   "No.  I tried his office at Georgetown, but there was nothing there.  In fact, I only know what he's up to because I ran into his cousin over the weekend and she told me he was looking into something he'd found in a newspaper clipping."

   "And you think he's going to get himself into trouble again?"

   Scully gave him a wry smile.  "Jerry, I _know_ he's going to get himself into trouble."

   He grinned back.  "Okay, obviously a stupid question.  But it's not a dead end.  Experimental aircraft, did you say?  We can check the recent publications and see if anything comes up.  And if all else fails, he keeps a PC at home, doesn't he?  Had you considered asking his mother if you could take a look?"

  1. She'd ruled it out partly because she'd never even met Mrs. Mulder before, but also partly because some things Mulder had said in the past suggested that his mother wouldn't approve of his relationship with a gentile.



   "I'd rather not do that unless I have to," Scully replied, after a moment.  "Let's see if we can't find something in the newspapers first."

XXXX

   "Mulder told me once that his mother had a nervous breakdown after his sister died, and she's been a bit flaky ever since," Jerry observed quietly, as they pulled up outside the Mulder residence.  "Something to do with the medication prescribed her.  Have you ever met her?"

   Scully shook her head as she checked her gun and ID were in place.

   "Me neither.  I'll be honest; I'm surprised he moved in with her.  I don't think he had contact with her from one year's end to the next when I worked with him, because they couldn't really get along."

   "The idea was that she would help him with Sam," Scully replied.  "I wonder if she's in?  She never has been when I've been here before."

   "Let's go see."

   Looking at the carefully maintained lawn and rhododendrons lining the driveway, Scully wondered if Mrs. Mulder did the gardening herself or whether someone was hired to do it for her.  One thing was for sure - Mulder didn't do it.  He was never here long enough for that.

   She couldn't imagine him weeding anyway.

   Jerry rang the doorbell and they both stood awkwardly on the steps, looking around and trying not to look conspicuous.  It was hard not to in the rather uniform regulation suits they wore - as far as the neighbours were concerned, they might just as well have "FBI" painted on their backs.

   At length, the door opened and Scully was confronted for the first time by Mrs. Mulder.

   It was obvious where Mulder got his looks from.  She was tall and slender, like her son, with the same nose - although it was rather less noticeable on her - and the same deep-set hazel eyes.  Her hair was pure white and neatly styled, and her clothes were well-tailored; Scully got an impression of mature elegance rather than age, which was reinforced by an aloof and wary manner.

   She didn't ask who they were, but merely waited.

   Scully wondered if Mrs. Mulder would connect the Dana Scully who had telephoned for her son once or twice with the Agent Scully in front of her.  There was only one way to find out, so she dug out her ID and displayed it.  "Mrs. Mulder?  I'm Agent Scully, this is Agent Castamir - we're looking for your son.  Do you know his present whereabouts?"

   Something flickered in the woman's eyes, but was gone before Scully could identify it.  "No," she said, after a pause.  "No, I've no idea where he is.  Why, is there a problem?"

   "We've reason to believe he may be in trouble," Jerry said smoothly, "and we need to find him.  Does he have a desk - somewhere where he might keep papers and important documents?  There might be an indication of where he's gone."

   Mrs. Mulder hesitated, then opened the door and stood back.  "In the study," she said, and indicated the door.  "Help yourselves."

   She didn't actually follow them into the room, but stood in the doorway watching as they rummaged through Mulder's rather untidy collection of papers, magazines and books.  The PC was switched on, though powered down; Scully glanced at Mrs. Mulder for permission and booted it up.

   When she clicked on the e-mail icon, it demanded a password.  Scully hesitated, wondering what on earth someone with a personality like Mulder's might use as a password.  She tried SAMUEL.  It didn't like that.  Nor did it like ELVIS or PRESLEY, which were Jerry's suggestions, based on Mulder's musical preferences.

   Finally, Jerry gave her an odd look and typed something else.

   DKSCULLY

   The machine beeped and the e-mail programme opened up.  Scully prayed Mrs. Mulder wouldn't notice she was blushing.  Then she noticed something herself and all thoughts of embarrassment faded away.

   There was just one message in Mulder's in-box and its subject was her name.  Clicking on it, she glanced at Jerry, and he pretended to busy himself with a bunch of promising-looking cuttings he'd found in a drawer.

   The message opened up, and it was addressed to her.

 

       Scully -

         Frohike's right, you are like a bulldog if

      you've found this.  Chances are you won't; with any

      luck I'll be back before you've noticed I'm gone,

      but just in case I'm not and you've started looking

      for me, I've gone to the Spud State to investigate

      a little kidnapping.  The Bureau had this case, but

      decided not to pursue it, which is why I guess it

      didn't land on your desk.  Or maybe it has by now,

      who knows?  It's probably not worth your time,

      Scully, although when you find the file in my desk

      you'll see why I just had to take a look.  I'll

      tell you all about it when I get home.

      M.

      XXX

 

   Scully stared at this breezy note and felt a surge of rage.  What the hell did he think he was playing at?  If he wanted to leave her a note like this, why didn't he just e-mail it to her properly, instead of hiding it in a programme he knew perfectly well she wouldn't attempt to get at unless she was at her wits' end?  And what -

   "Scully, look at this," Jerry said suddenly, interrupting her train of angry thoughts.  He was holding a cardboard file folder stuffed with blurry photographs, bits of paper and print-outs from the internet.  He held up a small newspaper cutting.  "Exhibit A," he said dryly.

   She took it, gesturing for him to read the e-mail message while she was reading, and took a look.  The cutting was a tiny story about a woman married to aircraft pilot at Ellens Air Base in South West Idaho, who claimed her husband had been kidnapped by the military.  It was dated two weeks previously, and it was no wonder they hadn't seen it in the publications they'd searched before coming here; the article had been a small story in a regional Idaho newspaper which appeared to have only one issue per week.

   Scully frowned over the scrap of paper.  Okay, it explained Mulder's reference to "a little kidnapping", but it didn't explain his interest.  Then she looked at a few of the other items in the folder and the pieces began to fall into place.

   Ellens Air Base was reputedly a mecca for UFO enthusiasts; rumour had it that some of the wreckage from the alleged crash at Roswell had been taken there, and that unusual aircraft were frequently spotted flying over the nearby town. 

   Scully slapped the folder shut and tapped Jerry on the arm.  "Come on, I need to get back to the office."

   He saw the grim look on her face, and didn't argue.  "What's back at the office?"

   "Hopefully, a file on the alleged kidnapping of one Colonel Robert Budahas," she replied.

XXXX

   Mrs. Mulder watched broodingly out of the living room window as the two FBI agents got into their car and drove off, then quietly went to find her purse.  She rummaged in it for a couple of moments until she found her address book, then spent another ten staring at one particular telephone number she kept hidden at the back of it.  The number had no name or address attached to it.

   She preferred it that way.  A name might trigger too many ugly memories.

   Finally, she summoned her courage, took the telephone off the cabinet, and dialled the number.  It was answered almost immediately.

   "It's me," she said without preamble.  No fear that the person on the other end of the line wouldn't know her; no such luck.  Apparently they said something to that effect, for she flinched and her voice hardened.  "Don't tell me you weren't expecting me to call - I know you better."

   Silence as the other person spoke at some length.  Rachel Mulder's fingers tightened on the handset, her knuckles white.  "I don't want to know!" she snapped.  "You listen to me.  I didn't call you over that business in Wisconsin because I have never asked you for anything, and I'm not about to start now.  Do you understand?  I'm not calling you now because I want something.  I'm calling because I ... have information.  And I'm not selling.  I want nothing in return.  Is that clear?  There are no favours involved here."

   Another pause; and her lips grew pinched with anger.  "I'm not the fool you think me.  I wasn't twenty years ago, and I'm certainly not now.  I'm giving you this, and I don't care what you do with it - you probably know anyway, but I'm not giving you an opportunity to say _I_ knew and withheld it from you.  So.  Are you listening?  My son's gone off on another of his little goose-chases.  To Idaho - you know where, don't pretend you don't ....  What do you mean, how do I know?  _She_ was here less than half an hour ago, that Irishwoman he's been sniffing around.  Obviously he didn't bother to tell her where he was off to again.  What?  A newspaper cutting, I think - I don't know, she took a folder full of his stuff away with her."

   Another silence, and then her voice became cool, indifferent.  "Frankly, I don't care.  If he's poking his nose in where he shouldn't, then I suppose you'll have to take action.  No, I don't want to know anymore about it.  I've told you what I know - now stay away from me."

   She put the telephone down decisively and stared at it for a moment.  Then she tucked her address book away in her purse and went to make herself a coffee.

XXXX

   The next morning Jerry Castamir found himself on a plane with his new partner, on their way to South West Idaho.  He still wasn't sure how Scully had managed to persuade AD Skinner to let them go.  He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know.  What did intrigue him was how she had managed to make a case out of a flimsy accusation of kidnapping which had already been deemed unworthy of investigation by another section of the Bureau.  And he wondered just how much the case was an excuse to look for Fox Mulder.

   Not that he was complaining ... yet.  It got him away from the bullpen and some of his less charitable colleagues for a while.  All the same, it seemed prudent to examine the 'case' a little more closely, so he flipped the file open and began to look through its contents.

   "That's Colonel Robert Budahas," Scully said quietly, watching as he examined a picture of a stocky man in Air Force uniform. "That photo was taken last year when he was a test pilot stationed at Ellens Air Base in South West Idaho.  Four months ago, Colonel Budahas experienced a psychotic episode and barricaded himself inside his home.  The military police were called in; Budahas was removed and apparently hospitalised for the treatment of his condition."

   "Which was what exactly?" Jerry asked, interested.

   Scully shrugged.  "The military won't comment on the cause, nature or status of his case - in fact, the military won't comment on Colonel Budahas at all.  Mrs. Budahas hasn't seen or heard from her husband in over four months, and her enquiries to the military have gone unanswered.  Last month she contacted the FBI and reported it as a kidnapping."

   His brows rose.  "What reason would the military have to kidnap one of their own pilots?"

   "That's the big question, Jerry.  I've been looking into this a little, besides reading Mulder's notes.  Since 1963 six pilots have been listed as missing in action from Ellens Air Base.  The military only say that these pilots accepted the risks of flying experimental aircraft."

   Jerry flipped through the papers rapidly.  "It says here there were rumours those pilots were shot down at high altitudes, while they were routinely penetrating Russian airspace."

   "Maybe that's so, but none of this explains what happened to Colonel Budahas, or why no one has set his wife's mind at rest as to his condition."

   "I guess we try and find out then."

   "I guess so.  But first, we need to find Mulder."

XXXX

   "You know, I didn't think of this before," Scully commented absently, as they drove through the small Idaho town that housed most of the Air Base staff's dependants, "but I've no idea how we're going to find Mulder, even if he _is_ here.  It's quite a big place."

   Jerry glanced at her and chuckled a little.  "Trust me, Dana - _finding_ Fox Mulder won't be the problem."

   She raised her brows questioningly.  "Oh?"

   "Sure.  I know Mulder from way back - we just find the rattiest motel in town, and he's sure to be holed up there.  He loves dives.  The one thing the Bureau never reprimanded him for was accommodation expenses.  Or food - if he's not at the motel, he'll be at the nearest roadside diner."

   Scully had to admit the justice of this observation.  While it was true that she had been to a couple of extremely classy restaurants with Mulder, they were vastly outnumbered by a large range of down-at-heel cafes, bars, diners and hot-dog stands which for some reason seemed to have a siren allure for him.  It came as no surprise that his taste in accommodation should be similar.

   Sure enough, when they pulled up at a rather weathered little motel on the outskirts of town - called, rather implausibly, The Beach Grove Motel - neither agent was disappointed.  Mulder's name was ahead of theirs on the booking-in register, although when they knocked on his door, he was apparently not around.

   "Okay ...." Scully sighed, having dumped her overnight bag in her room.  "Any suggestions?"

   Jerry looked a bit dubious.  "What do you want to do - find Mulder or get on with the case?"

   "I'm not sure there is a case, quite honestly."

   "All the same, that's the pretext we came out here on.  We're going to have to put something in our reports when we get back."

   Scully gave her new partner a narrow look when he said that; it sounded _almost_ like a rebuke.  On the other hand, he had a point.  The Bureau wasn't paying her to be a wet-nurse to Fox Mulder.  "In that case, let's go see Mrs. Budahas."

XXXX

   "I don't think I'd want to live here," Jerry muttered to Scully as they stood on the doorstep of Mrs. Budahas's house, waiting for her to open the door.  There was a low background rumbling - the remnants of a jet screaming past seconds before which had made him nearly leap out of his skin.

   Scully, however, smiled faintly.  "You get used to it," she assured him, remembering her childhood spend on Naval bases, where assorted noises day and night were a feature of the general background.

   "Huh."

   The door opened before Jerry could pass an opinion, and Mrs. Budahas stood before them - a small woman with short curly dark hair and a worried expression.  "Hello?"

   They glanced at each other and Scully stepped forward.  "Mrs. Budahas?  We're from the FBI."  She produced her badge, and the woman gave her a wavering, hopeful smile. 

   "Oh - yes.  Please, come in."

   It was a nice little house, very homelike, but typical of the houses the military built for servicemen's families.  Scully was once again reminded sharply of her own upbringing in a selection of houses not unlike this; you could decorate it as you wished, spray it with personal effects, but it remained a military home.  Mrs. Budahas had apparently declined to even attempt to disguise that fact, and her husband's medals and so on were proudly displayed on the walls of her living room, including, rather remarkably, a Presidential Commendation.

   Jerry opted to remain standing, for the better examination of these honours, but Scully sat down, guessing that Mrs. Budahas would feel easier talking to her.

  1. But then - everything just went crazy."



   "How do you mean?" Scully asked gently.

   "Bob's whole personality just became unpredictable.  He started ... doing things."

   Jerry looked around at this.  "What kind of things?"

   "It was kind of embarrassing at first," she said, her voice high and nervous.  "We were having a dinner party once and he started sprinkling fish-food flakes all over his food."  Her eyes darted from Scully to Jerry and back again, but their expressions remained neutral and sympathetic.

   "Did you ever talk to him about this?" Scully asked.

   "I tried - it was extremely difficult.  Bob would get so angry; he'd yell at the kids for no reason, and then he'd shake like he was having a seizure."

   "Did you ever talk about his work?"

   Mrs. Budahas shook her head quickly, decisively.  "That was never discussed - even before the problems," she replied firmly.  "I knew he worked on top secret projects - word gets around - but Bob was always a patriot first."  Her mouth suddenly trembled.  "He took loyalty to his country as an oath - and now they treat us like strangers ...."  She looked down at her hands, fighting for control.  "I just want my husband back," she muttered finally.

   Scully bit her lip sympathetically.  "You know, the Government is not above the law.  It cannot withhold information."

   But Mrs. Budahas was not reassured.  She had first-hand experience of what the Government felt it could do; and in any case, a greater spectre haunted her.  "Wh-what if he's - ?"  She swallowed, unable to continue the thought.  "How will I support the family?"

   There was no answer to that, and Scully realised that any further attempts at reassurance would only be an insult to this woman under the circumstances.  After all, she wasn't sure exactly what they could do, although she intended to find out.

   It was only when Mrs. Budahas was showing them out again, that Scully remembered her original reason for following this case.

   "Mrs. Budahas," she said, turning back on the steps.  "Has anyone else been here in the last couple of days, asking you about your husband's disappearance?"

   "Why yes," she said, a little surprised.  "There was a man - he said he was a journalist.  I sent him away."

   "Which begs the question of where Mulder is now," Jerry observed dryly, when they were back in the car.

   "And, more to the point, what he's doing," Scully agreed, with a sigh.

   But both questions were answered less than ten minutes later, as they drove through a quiet suburb filled with larger houses that appeared to be the homes of the more important individuals at the base.  Passing one rather neat and well-ordered-looking abode Scully noticed two men arguing in the driveway - and abruptly realised that one of them was a certain delinquent university lecturer of her acquaintance. 

   She swerved, which brought the matter to Jerry's attention rather forcibly, and pulled up a few yards further down the road.

   "Sorry, Jerry," Scully managed, fighting a recalcitrant seatbelt.

   "It's okay.  What the hell's he doing?"

   The answer to that became fairly obvious as they hurried up to the two men. 

   "Why won't you talk to me about Colonel Budahas?" Mulder was demanding, as the other man, a uniformed officer from the air base, retreated into his home.

   "Why don't _you_ get the hell out of my face!" the other man retorted angrily, and slammed the front door behind him.

   "Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Scully called from the driveway entrance. 

   No way was she going to be accused of trespass.

   Mulder spun on his heel, surprised, and his face - previously a mask of exasperation - broke into a delighted smile.  He jogged back down the drive to her.  "Hey, Scully, you made it!"

   "I repeat," she snapped, eyes blazing, "what the hell are you doing?"

   "Oh, you know - the usual."  The smile vanished.  Mulder had registered her companion, and his eyes were wary.  "Hey, Jerry, what are you doing here?"

   "By the looks of it, pulling your ass out of the fire," Jerry replied rather acidly.  "Quite like old times."

   Apparently this didn't go down very well.  Scully could sense what remained of Mulder's good-humour dissipating, although his expression remained blandly amiable.  "Isn't that my tie?" he asked his former partner in passing, as he began to head back to his car.

   "You left it in your desk drawer - I assumed you didn't want it," Jerry retorted.  "Where are you going?"

   "Isn't that Scully's line?"

   "Mulder."

   One word; but the deadly note in it brought him up short with his hand on the door of his rental car.  He turned to face her, his expression polite, but his eyes had a dangerous glint in them.

   "I think you owe me an explanation," Scully said, her voice lethally soft.

   Mulder's voice was equally soft and dangerous.  "I am not accountable to you for my actions, Scully."

   The atmosphere between them was suddenly so tangible and bad that Jerry Castamir almost looked around to see if a skunk had wandered by.  And quite suddenly he realised that he didn't want to be anywhere within a radius of a square mile when the real fight broke out.

   "Don't make me make this official, Mr. Mulder."

   Oh shit.

   "What exactly are you suggesting, Agent Scully?"

   "I suggest that you come with us now."

   "There's just this minor difficulty of my car.  How about I meet you back at the - "

   "Get in our car.  Now.  Agent Castamir - " 

   Jerry stepped forward very warily, trying to avoid looking at Mulder.  "Agent Scully?"

   Scully held out her hand to Mulder peremptorily and after a significant pause, he handed her his car keys.  She handed them to Jerry.  "You drive his car back to the motel, please."

   Which suited Jerry just fine.  No way did he want to share a car with that pair right now.  He watched Mulder resignedly following Scully to the other car, and sighed.  It was going to be a long afternoon.

XXXX

   When they reached the motel Jerry vanished, muttering something unconvincing about making a phonecall.  His reluctance to get involved in the impending quarrel between his current and former partners was so obvious that it tickled Mulder's ever-ready sense of humour and wiped out any annoyance he was feeling at the earlier confrontation.

   Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Scully, who was tight-lipped with suppressed anger.  She waited only long enough for the flimsy door of Mulder's motel room to be shut behind them before she vented it.

   "Just what the hell do you think you're playing at, Mulder?" she demanded.  "Who was that officer you were hassling back there?"

   "His name's Colonel Kissel," Mulder replied blandly, watching her pace the room with wary eyes.  "He's on the staff at Ellens Air Base and he's one of the guys Colonel Budahas's wife has been trying to talk to for the last four months.  As you can see, he didn't particularly want to talk to the press either."

   "I'm not surprised!"  But Scully wasn't really interested in why Mulder had been trying to talk to Colonel Kissel.  "Perhaps you could explain to me why you're here at all, though?"

   "If you saw my message, you know why."

   "Your message was no more informative than you're being now," she retorted.  "And was I even supposed to receive it?"

   Mulder raised his brows innocently.  "It was addressed to you, wasn't it?"

   "Yes - and then left in a place where I might reasonably be expected not to find it!"

   "But you _did_ find it," he pointed out gently.

   Scully stared at him for a moment and saw the beginnings of a smile quivering at the corner of his mouth.  Suddenly she realised why some women were driven to hit the men in their lives; her palm itched to slap that infuriating smile off his face.  She barely mastered the impulse by folding her arms tightly across her chest. 

   "No thanks to you," she said coldly.  "I found out you were gone purely by accident.  Tell me; would you have bothered telling me where you'd been afterwards, if I hadn't found out?  Or maybe I'd be springing you from military custody again, who knows."

   "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?" he muttered.

   "Why should I?  I'm not going to forget it in a hurry."  Scully eyed him resentfully for a moment, then transferred her gaze to the view out of the window and forced herself to take a couple of calming breaths.  Nagging was an unattractive trait in any woman, and one guaranteed to be counter-productive.  "Okay," she said in a milder tone, after a moment.  "Perhaps you'll explain to me why you are here."

   Mulder sat down on the end of the bed.  "Like I said, I'm just investigating a little kidnapping."

   "Come on, Mulder," Scully sighed.  "I saw your notes, remember?  The real reason, please."

   He looked up warily, and saw from her face that the worst of the storm was over.  "Okay.  Maybe the words 'experimental aircraft' have this curious allure for me, especially when spoken in conjunction with 'Ellens Air Base'."

   "You don't really believe this stuff about wreckage from Roswell being brought here, do you?  You don't seriously think that the military are using scrap metal from UFOs to build aircraft?"

   "Let's just say that I'm keeping an open mind."

   "Oh, Mulder ...."

   "Scully, according to the local people Colonel Budahas was displaying psychotic and repetitive behaviour patterns before he vanished.  So are several other pilots who were working out of Ellens Air Base.  What exactly do you think caused that?"

   Scully looked at him.  "Seriously?  There's a stress-related condition called steryotopy which produces those symptoms, Mulder.  I'd say flying the kind of aircraft which have been screaming overhead all afternoon would be stressful."

   He gave her an incredulous look.  "Oh, come on, Scully!  A guy like Budahas?  Look at his record - this guy lives on stress.  It would have to be a pretty extraordinary aircraft to freak him out."

   Scully squeezed the bridge of her nose wearily.  "I'm not going to argue with you, Mulder, especially not when I haven't eaten since we flew in."

   "Okay," he said obligingly.  "Let's go get something to eat.  There's a place up the road I know you'll just love."

   "Hm.  Where have I heard that before?"

   He grinned, recognising from her tone that the status quo had been re-established.  "I don't know what you mean."

   She grinned back tiredly.  "Fine.  We'd better find Jerry first, though.  He probably thinks we've killed each other by now."

   "He's the new partner, huh?"

   "Yes ....  He told me you two worked together."

   "Briefly.  He's a good guy - you got luckier than I thought you would."  Mulder's expression was difficult to read as he said this.  "What do you make of him?"

   "He seems okay - I haven't spent that much time with him yet.  But on first impression, he reminded me a lot of you."

   This did not produce the reaction she had expected.

   "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked softly.

   Scully wasn't sure how to answer that, so she didn't even try.

XXXX

   "I might have known," Scully murmured resignedly when they pulled up outside the diner.  The sign above her head proudly proclaimed the establishment to be "The Flying Saucers" in cheerful neon lights.

   "Pretty neat, huh?" Mulder enthused.  "I only found out about it today."

   "I'm not sure I believe that."

   Jerry merely sighed as he unfolded his long legs from the rear passenger seat and looked at the place.  Then he looked at Scully.  "What did I tell you?" he said wryly.  "Bad food and bad motels."

   She chuckled in spite of herself, and Mulder gave him a later-for-you look.

   "As I recall, you were the one who booked us into that pay-by-the-hour joint in Chicago, where all the local transvestites hung out," he observed musingly.

   "But you were the one who wanted to stay," Jerry shot back.

   "I'd like to eat sometime today," Scully interjected plaintively, recalling them to the present.

   Watching both Jerry and Mulder putting away hearty mixed grills fifteen minutes later, she couldn't see any evidence of finer culinary tastes in either of them and had to smile inwardly.  They were bickering like a pair of children over cases past and incidents at the academy which each strenuously asserted the other had precipitated, while Scully sat back and listened in amusement.

   _This_ was a Mulder she had never seen before; the man he had probably been in his early days with the Bureau, before he married Phoebe and everything went wrong.  The only thing she couldn't understand was why, if he got along so well with Jerry, he hadn't kept in touch with him; it might have made his isolation from the FBI easier to bear ... for there was no doubt in her mind that he missed his old job.

   Of course, one did lose touch with one's academy classmates remarkably quickly, and Jerry had already told her that he'd transferred out of Behavioural Sciences after a relatively short stint there.  And it was quite possible that during his troubles with Phoebe, Mulder had deliberately isolated himself from any friends he might have; that would be like him.

   Well, if such a mixed blessing as her being saddled with an unwanted partner reaped the unexpected benefit of him being able to reconnect with an old friend, then - so be it.

   Mulder happened to glance up at that moment and caught the affectionate look on her face.  He raised a questioning brow, and she gave him a deliberate Mona Lisa smile, but just as he began to ask her what was on her mind, another jet went screaming overhead, rattling every glass on the long shelves behind the bar.

   The landlady, a sturdily-built and laid-back character, rolled her eyes as she dumped another tall glass of Pepsi down in front of Jerry.

   "F15 Eagle doing about 4 g's," she commented dryly, seeing his rather ruffled expression.  "Those boys think they are _such_ hot shots.  Get a few drinks in them - you'd think it was them up there flapping their wings."

   Mulder snorted a laugh.  His eyes fell on a long row of photos pinned to the shelf behind her, which had probably (Scully thought) been on his mind ever since they walked in, and he gestured to them.  "Who's the photographer?"

   The landlady took a casual look at them.  "Various and sundry.  I took the one on the end there."  She pointed out a rather blurred picture of a something triangular shaped apparently hovering over a stand of trees.

   It was Scully's turn to roll her eyes, but Mulder was impressed.

   "You're kidding?  Where?"

   "Out on the back porch.  Taking out the garbage - and there it was, just hovering.  Quiet like a hummingbird.  For a minute there I thought it was going to land in the parking lot, and I was going to have to serve them lunch."

   Scully looked at Mulder disbelievingly.  Surely he wasn't going to fall for this ...?  But apparently he was, and worse still, Jerry appeared equally agog.

   "I'm selling limited edition prints - $20.  I'm down to the last five if you're interested."

   "Put it on my tab," Mulder told her, without hesitation.

   This was too much.  Scully leaned over as she got up, and gave him the full benefit of a raised and sceptical eyebrow.  "Sucker!"

   But he merely took that as a challenge and turned back to the landlady.  "What would be the chances of someone like me seeing a UFO?"

   "Catch you outside," Scully told him, and headed for the ladies' room, shaking her head.  Mulder watched her go then turned to the landlady and shrugged deprecatingly.

XXXX

   A few hours later, having abandoned the case temporarily in favour of a good night's sleep, Scully was sat on her bed studying a map of the area with a small frown on her face when there was a light tap on her door.

   It was Mulder, of course.

   "Whatever you want, you can't have it.  Jerry's only next door, and the walls are paper-thin," she told him as she let him in.

   "You keep making me these great offers in the most uncomfortable places," he grinned at her.  "What are you doing?"

   "Checking out the lie of the land.  Want to see something weird?  Ellens Air Base isn't even on my USGS Quadrant Map."

   "I know," Mulder nodded.  "Do _you_ want to see something weird?"

   She eyed him suspiciously.  "Such as?"

   "Get your coat."

   Scully balked.  "Hold on a minute, Mulder - where are we going?"

   "To see the local floor show."

   "I'd better go get Jerry - "

   " _Leave_ Jerry," Mulder interrupted, a little impatiently.  "Two's company, three is definitely kinky.  Nothing's going to happen that you'll need official back-up for - I just want you to see something really neat.  You can tell Jerry in the morning."

   Still Scully hesitated, for his expression suggested he wanted Jerry out of the way for another reason altogether.  "Mulder," she said uncomfortably, "I'm on Bureau time, and - "

   He sighed.  "Relax, it's case-related.  Now, are you going to come?  We'll miss it if you don't make your mind up soon."

   Scully hesitated, but the temptation of playing hooky with Mulder for an hour or so overrode caution.  She grabbed her coat and followed him out to his car.

XXXX

   It was a nice clear night, although a little chilly; that was Mulder's excuse for dragging a blanket from his motel room out with them and putting on the ground.  Scully wasn't going to argue with him, since it undeniably stopped the cold from striking up from the grass.  As for the apparently non-existent 'floor show' he'd mentioned, she was curious but less inclined to argue about that too.

   After all, she hadn't done anything like this since she was a teenager, and there was something very enticing about breaking the rules just this once ....  Mulder apparently agreed with her for his grin, when he flopped out beside her and slung an arm around her shoulders, was very little-boy wicked.

   "See?  I told you - two's company."

   Scully pretended to give it serious consideration.  "Hmm - maybe.  I don't know though - maybe Jerry would have enjoyed this."

   "With Jerry you never know, but I don't intend to find out.  Seeds?"

   "Thanks."  She helped herself.  "So tell me, Mulder - why are we stuck out here on a hill above the base?"

   He smiled.  "Other than for the joy of each other's company?"

   "I'm sure we could have had that in more comfortable locations," she replied mildly.

   "Be patient.  With any luck, you'll see what I dragged you out here for shortly.  You're not cold, are you?"

   "No."

   "Pity."

   Scully chuckled.  "Come here."

   "Oooh!"  Mulder took the invitation and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head comfortably.  "You're nice and warm, Agent Scully."

   "So are you, Mr. Mulder."  Scully snuggled up shamelessly, enjoying the warm male smell of him.  Just as well they were out here, where the cold made certain activities less than inviting.  If they'd been back at the motel, poor old Jerry would have been getting an earful in no time at all.  Her attention began to wander.  "I met your cousin Annie the other day," she murmured into his chest.

   "Yeah?"

   "Hmm.  She was chasing Sam around the mall."  Scully felt the chuckle deep in his chest, and smiled.  "That's how I found out you'd run off again - Sam blew the whistle on you."

   "He's reached the stage where he blurts out whatever's on his mind, regardless of how secret or embarrassing it is."  Mulder shifted slightly, getting more comfortable.  "So - what did you make of her?"

   "Annie?  She seems really nice.  She had a little girl with her - "

   "Sarah, her youngest.  She's four.  The other two are boys."

   "She said you'd told the family all about me."

   Mulder raised his head and gave Scully a look of consternation.  "I have not!"

   Scully laughed softly at his tone.  "So when we got home, my sister Melissa told my mother and two of my nosiest aunts about you.  In revenge for me not having told her all about you before, you understand."

   He gave her a look of trepidation.  "Is that good or bad?"

   She squinted thoughtfully and waggled one hand in the air.  "Debatable.  I could have done without the aunts in the equation, because the whole family probably knows by now that the confirmed old maid of the family has a man in her life, but I don't mind my mother knowing.  She's keeping a tactful silence until I decide to unburden myself to her voluntarily."

   A humorous note entered Mulder's voice.  "And your sister?"

   Scully snorted and burrowed back against his chest.  "Missy'll make a pest of herself until she meets you - which, as far as I'm concerned, will be when hell freezes over, after the way she stitched me up."

   Mulder chuckled - and suddenly noticed something.  "Hey, Scully, I think we're on!"

   "Huh?  What?"

   He released his hold on her and pointed out over the base.  Scully sat up, a little disappointed at the interruption, and suddenly saw what he was referring to.  She scrambled to her feet to get a better look. 

   Two brilliant white lights soared up into the air and seemed to dance with each other way above the air base.  They moved faster than anything she'd ever seen before, performing seemingly impossible aerial manoeuvres.

   "What are they?" Scully murmured, transfixed.

   Mulder pulled himself upright beside her.  "I don't know.  Just keep watching - it's unbelievable.  I've been watching them for the last couple of nights."

   Above them, the aerial display continued, the two lights breaking apart, zipping across the sky at incredible speeds, coming to abrupt halts and making startling changes of direction in split seconds, then coming together again.

   "That's unreal - I've never seen anything like it."

   "They were going at it like that for almost half an hour last night," Mulder breathed in her ear.

   "They can't be aircraft - aircraft can't manoeuvre like that," Scully pointed out, ever prosaic.

   He merely smiled.  "What else could they be?"

   "I don't know.  Lasers, maybe, being shot from the ground and reflecting across the clouds."

   Abruptly, the two lights met, swooped upwards into the clouds and vanished from sight. 

   There was a loud crash, as if two planes had collided mid-air.  Mulder and Scully looked at each other, wide-eyed and stunned.

   "Oh - my - God!"

   There was a long pause, and suddenly another light appeared, apparently heading straight towards them. 

   "Here comes another one ...." Mulder observed - and did a double take.  "Scully, that's a helicopter - "

XXXX

   Motels - especially the cheaper ones - tend to be busy places, even at the oddest hours of the night.  Consequently, Jerry Castamir wasn't particularly suspicious when he heard a car leaving the parking lot outside, or several others arriving.  However, perhaps by an association of ideas, he did decide to pay his partner a visit and find out what she was intending to do the next day, in the vain hope that it might involve hopping on a plane back to Washington DC.

   He was realistic enough to recognise that leaving anytime before Scully was good and ready - which probably meant before Mulder was good and ready - was unlikely.  But it was worth a try.

   Finding Scully's room unlit was a mild surprise, but when he thought about it a little it made sense.  Jerry sighed a little irritably, and went to check his premise ... so it was something of a surprise to discover that not only was there a light on in Mulder's room but the door was also open.

   Jerry had no cause yet to be a paranoid man, like Mulder, nor was he a fraction as wary as Scully had become over the past few months.  Nevertheless, he was an FBI agent of considerable experience, and finding the room the such a condition sent his hand under his armpit for his gun.

   The door wasn't just open, it was wide open, and when Jerry stepped cautiously inside he was shocked to see the room in complete turmoil.  Mulder was no one's idea of a tidy man, but this was something else entirely.  Someone had turned the place over, and that someone was apparently completely unconcerned about evidence of their activities being discovered.  Mulder's few possessions had been spread over the maximum possible area and the furniture turned over and inside out.

   Jerry hesitated for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action.  This break-in put an uncomfortable new idea into his head about the current whereabouts of both Mulder and Scully; he turned, intending to check and see if Mulder's car was still in the parking lot, when he felt something cool and chillingly familiar pressed against the back of his neck.  He stiffened and cursed silently, but there was nothing for it but to wait and see what happened next.

   What did happen was completely unexpected.

   "Hello, Jerry," an amused-sounding female voice said in his ear.  A voice he recognised.

   Jerry had a fraction of a second to register astonishment and disbelief before a sharp blow to the head put an end to him registering anything for quite some time.

XXXX

   Scrambling down the steep side of the embankment was a deal more difficult than climbing the gentle slope Mulder had led Scully up half and hour before.  On the other hand, heading down, towards the perimeter fence, which surrounded the air base, was also a better option than being out in the open where the people in the helicopter could see them.  There were trees and bushes lining the dip below thickly, providing better shelter to hide in - for there was no doubt in either of their minds that the helicopter was looking for them.  Scully slipped several times and resigned herself to getting covered in mud and grass stains.

   The fence was a huge 20 foot wire construction.  The top was bound in barbed wire and had another single length of narrow cable running through the upper edge, which was possibly electrified.  Mulder kept a wary distance from it just in case, and dragged Scully into a stand of trees, far enough that they would be hidden from sight but not so far that they couldn't see what was going on.  Interestingly, the helicopter pilot was combing the area with a strong beam of light, but not the area where they had been sat.  Instead, he appeared to be concentrating on an area just inside the fence, which was covered in tall weeds, some of them taller than Mulder.

   Scully pulled his head down so that she could speak into his ear over the noise the chopper was making.  "What are they looking for?"

   "Not what," Mulder told her.  "Who!" 

   He pointed and she turned to see a couple of small figures sudden break out of the weeds by the fence.  Now that Scully's attention was drawn to it, she could see that there was something wrong with the section of fence in that area.  One of the two figures bent and grabbed hold of the bottom edge of the wire and held it up for the other.  In a second or two they were both through, and Mulder was already running to intercept them and drag them into the trees.

   It was two teenaged kids, a boy and a girl, and to Scully's amazement neither seemed to think more of what had happened than that it was a good joke.  The fact that they had both been trespassing on military property and had been within minutes of being apprehended for a serious offence didn't seem to have occurred to them; they were both giggling and congratulating each other on the close shave.  Nor did they seem to find it at all odd that they were sharing their current refuge with two adults.

   Then Scully looked at them both again more closely, aware of a peculiar sweetish smell clinging to their clothes, and realised that they were both high.  They'd been smoking pot.

   If Mulder was aware of this fact - and given how observant he was, it was unlikely he'd missed it - he chose to ignore it.  Scully was not surprised to discover that he was more interested in the hole in the fence and where it led.

   "What were you guys doing in there?" he demanded.

   "We didn't do anything!" the girl said, her eyes wide.  She had long blonde hair, and looked to be about sixteen.  Her companion looked to be about the same age, but had shoulder-length brown hair and the rather uncertain teenaged beginnings of a goatee beard.

   "I didn't say you did," Mulder replied patiently, "but what were you doing in there?"

  1. "We go there and we kind of kick back and listen to some tunes, and watch the air show."



   Mulder glanced across at Scully, and couldn't resist a ghost of a grin at her.  She pretended to ignore it, and he turned back to the two kids.  "What're your names?"

   "Emil," the boy said, "and Zoe."  He indicated the girl, who nodded.

   "Were you ever chased out before, Emil?"

   "No!  First time, right?  Our friend showed us the hole in the fence about a year ago."

   "One time they dropped these bombs," Zoe interjected enthusiastically.

   "That was _heavy_ ," Emil agreed.  "There's this base, right?"  He gestured towards the area behind the fence some distance away.  "It's called the yellow base, or some shit like that.  That's where they're supposed to store all this stuff, and my friend says that there's land mines all around it and junk like that."

   Mulder was staring at the hole in the fence in a speculative way that alarmed Scully.

   "Mulder, what are doing?  Come on, we've got to get out of here before they send out people to look for us on foot!"

   He glanced at her blankly for a moment, then suddenly seemed to register what she'd said.  He shook himself, and nodded.  "Yeah, of course.  Let's get out of here - come on, you two, we'll give you a ride back into town."

   Emil and Zoe looked a little uncertain about this.  "We brought our moped," Emil pointed out.

   "We'll put it in the trunk.  Come on - you lead the way."

   With Zoe leading, they pushed their way through the bushes and tall grass, Mulder bringing up the rear. 

   Which was Scully's big mistake.  It wasn't until they got out onto the road and found both the car and the moped, that she turned around thinking Mulder had been awfully quiet - and found him gone.

   For several minutes, she was too speechless with anger for words. 

   "Where'd he go?" Emil asked stupidly, and the agent rounded on him furiously. 

   "Back through that damned hole you made the goddamned fence!"  She stared at the two kids, who were staring back apprehensively, and for a moment she toyed with the notion of abandoning them here and going back after Mulder.  But a second's reflection told her how stupid that would be.  She had no idea when he'd left them and turned back, but he had a head start on her and with his long legs he could cover the ground at considerable speed.  She'd never catch up with him.  Also, once inside the fence she had no idea which direction to go in. 

   And leaving these doped up kids here on their own would be downright irresponsible.  Scully had no choice; she sighed and gestured to the moped.  "Here, help me get this in the trunk," she told the two of them tiredly.

   She was better off heading back to the motel and waking Jerry.

XXXX

   Mulder had an idea that he should be feeling remorse for having ditched Scully again, but he had known the minute he saw that hole in the perimeter fence that she would never countenance a foray onto the base to see if they could get an eyeful of what was going on.  Rather than have the argument with her there and then, wasting time, he'd acted.  He'd ride out the storm with her later.

   After all, what was the big deal?  Those two kids had been coming in here for months and hadn't been seen until tonight - and Mulder was willing to bet that that had only been because of the explosion he and Scully had witnessed.  If the chopper hadn't been out anyway, no one would have been the wiser.  And he wasn't going to try and enter any of the buildings or anything like that; he was just going to ... look.  See what was going on.

   Oh, temptation ....

   Mulder ploughed through the tall grasses and other vegetation, following a roughly trampled track made, presumably, by Emil and Zoe during one of their expeditions.  Despite the darkness, he was glad that the weeds reached above head height, offering some sort of protection.  The helicopter was still cruising the area, although the pilot seemed to have given up on the area nearest the perimeter fence. 

   After a walk of about fifteen or twenty minutes, Mulder found himself at the end of the tall weeds and on the edge of what looked like an airfield of considerable size.  He eyed the cruising helicopter warily, but it seemed to be concentrating on a corner of the field some distance away.  Mulder scanned the area and in the distance saw a cluster of lights.  He began to walk in that direction, keeping close enough to the tall weeds that he could duck back into them should the need arise.

   Less than five minutes later, the lights began to move.  Mulder strained his eyes, trying to see what was happening, but he was at the wrong angle.  So, throwing caution to the wind, he moved out into the middle of what seemed to be a kind of runway ... and was rewarded, moments later, by something swooping through the air towards him.

   Stunned, he stood stock still, staring up at it as it came to an incredibly swift halt above him and hung there.

   It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but it appeared to be roughly triangular in shape and was about the length of a juggernaut.  It had three _things_ on its dark underside - lights, landing equipment, whatever - which glowed in the dark, and as Mulder watched, breathless with amazement and awe, it seemed to rotate itself gently in the air above him.  It was, as the landlady of "The Flying Saucers" had so descriptively said, as quiet as a hummingbird, despite being only a matter of two or three metres above Mulder's head. 

   Then, as fast as it had appeared, it was gone again, racing away in the darkness and leaving Mulder craning his neck and fighting the urge to shout "come back!" after it.

   For several minutes he stared after it, panting from the adrenaline surging through his body and straining his eyes to see where it had gone.

   It was real.  He'd seen it. 

   _Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh wow -_

   Mulder was suddenly conscious of a noise.  He spun around, and saw the headlights of a truck coming straight for him.

XXXX

   The drive back to the motel was an uncomfortable one.  The two kids seemed to be pretty much off on their own planet somewhere, which was just as well for Scully was acutely conscious of her stomach roiling with anger and anxiety.  This was the first time Mulder had actually ditched her in person, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it - 'angry' didn't begin to describe her emotions.

   She dropped the two kids off in town, and drove back to the motel, debating what she was going to say to Jerry.  She wondered how he would take the news that she had clandestinely gone off with Mulder and somehow lost him, and suddenly felt ashamed of herself.  When had she become so damned unprofessional? 

   _It's not unprofessional,_ she tried to rationalise. _It's not like I would have been doing anything constructive towards the case tonight anyway._

   But she couldn't convince herself.  The fact was, she was in town on a case, on the Bureau's time and money, and running around at night with Mulder was downright unprofessional.  And if the trip out to the base _had_ been connected to the case - which was debatable - then she should have taken her partner with her.

   In fact, she could hardly complain about Mulder ditching her when she had done the self same thing to Jerry.

   Damn, this was all so complicated ....

   Scully squared her shoulders.  Okay, it was time to face the music.  She needed to find Jerry, confess to the evening's activities, and take the situation from there.  And in future, she would regulate her own behaviour more strictly, no matter what carrot Mulder waved under her nose. 

   She wondered if she would be able to keep to that resolve.

   She pulled into the motel's parking lot and parked her car in front of her room.  The lights in Jerry's room were blazing, and she wondered rather queasily if he already knew she'd been out and was waiting for her to arrive back.  That made him seem like her father, but Scully had a gut feeling that he would take a rather dim view of her stretching regulations, and she couldn't really blame him.  They both had first hand experience of the Bureau's ideas of revenge when agents stepped out of line. 

   Thinking of that made Scully wonder absently what Jerry's particular crime had been.  He tended to pass the matter off with a joke, but she was aware that he was a little sensitive about the issue.  Then she put it out of her mind again, and got out of the car.

   At once, she realised something was wrong.  The lights in her partner's room were blazing, but the door was half open and for some reason she couldn't pinpoint, that seemed odd.  Also, the curtains weren't drawn at the window and she couldn't see him at all, even though she could see the bed quite clearly.  Jerry was a big man, almost as tall as Mulder; he should have been visible even if he was sat down.

   Scully groped for the gun holstered in the hollow of her back and approached the room warily.  Easing the door open, she looked around quickly and realised at once that Jerry wasn't there.  She glanced around searchingly, but there was no sign of disorder or forced entry.  She backed out of the room again, and looked around the parking lot.  He hadn't gone anywhere by car; their rental was still there and she was driving Mulder's. 

   Then she became conscious of another set of lights blazing brightly - further down the row, where Mulder's room was.  Her nerves beginning to jingle with alarm, Scully jogged down there quickly and burst into the room.

   She almost fell over Jerry's prone body in her haste.

XXXX

   For a few precious seconds Mulder stood frozen, pinned like a rabbit in the beams from the oncoming vehicle.  This he came to himself with a jolt, and turned, starting to run.  Behind him, a second set of headlights joined the first, and an increasing hum overhead, plus a powerful light being shone directly down on him, warned that he was being tracked by a helicopter.

   _Shitshitshitshit -_

   Running had to be futile; Mulder was a passionate advocate of running as a healthful activity, but he couldn't fool himself that it was going to get him away from here tonight.  All the same, the attempt had to be made.  If he could just get to the weeds, he might have a chance ....

   One truck speeded up and cut across his path.  Mulder ducked to one side, stumbling a little, but was swiftly cut off by the second vehicle, and before he could decide what to do next, he was tackled from behind and brought crashing to the ground.  Then the breath was really knocked out of him by someone landing heavily on his back.  He yelped as his arms were forced up behind him and his face pressed down in the gravel surface of the runway, and he was conscious of shouted orders and the noise of yet another vehicle swerving to a halt nearby.  There was a pause, then a startling crash next to him as a gurney was dropped to the ground.

   A gurney?  What - ?

   Hands seized him, jerking him upwards quickly.  Before he knew it, Mulder was stretched out the gurney and was being strapped down by a number of hard-faced individuals in uniform.  He protested and struggled, but was ignored, and the gurney was swiftly transferred to a waiting military ambulance.  Once inside, the doors were slammed shut and the vehicle sped off again.

   It was all so neatly and precisely done that Mulder had to wonder if they'd done all this before to some other foolhardy snooper.

   Then all thoughts of _that_ were driven out of his head by the sight of one of his captors testing a hypodermic in mid air above him.

   "Hey, what - NO!"

XXXX

   It took several hours for Jerry to come around, a fact which Scully knew had nothing to do with the lump on the back of his skull and probably everything to do with a fresh needle mark on the inside of his left elbow.  Since she strongly doubted that her partner was an intravenous drugs user, the only conclusion she could come to was that the mark had been inflicted by whomever had coshed him; but the combination of the two had almost sent her to the phone for paramedics more than once.  If he hadn't been reasonably responsive to being pinched in a sensitive spot, she would have done so for sure; as it was, she sat most of the night beside him, fretting and wondering what on earth had happened.  He had a number of bruises and abrasions, which suggested he had been dragged somewhere, and all in all he was in miserable shape.

  1. For some reason, parts of this case reminded her of that first "X" file she had investigated in Oregon, including the unhelpful locals and disappearing evidence.



   Except that there wasn't much in the way of evidence in this case, unless there were things Mulder still wasn't telling her.  The idea ate at her.

   By the time Jerry stirred, Scully had almost eaten her nails down to the quick, and the first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon.  He was groggy, nauseous and decidedly vague.

   Scully felt guilty for being relieved at this; at least she wasn't going to have to undergo the 'why did you ditch me' speech just yet.

   "Jerry?  Jerry, what happened?  Do you remember?"

   Jerry blinked up at her, squinting a little, and she reached out to pull the bedside lamp away so that it didn't shine on his face.  He swallowed dryly and Scully found him a glass of water, thrusting down her impatience as he sipped.  "Jerry?"

   "I was lookin' f'r you," he rasped after a moment's painful thought.  He reached slowly to the back of his head and winced as his fingers brushed the painful lump there.  "Ow ....  I - went to Mulder's room, an' they'd trashed it."  His voice became a little stronger, and he began to look around, seeing that he was still in Mulder's room.  "What happened?"

   "It looks like someone coshed you," Scully told him slowly.  "I found you on the floor beside the bed, but I think you were taken somewhere and brought back, Jerry - you've got a needle-mark inside your left elbow, and you look like you've been dragged halfway around the parking lot."

   Jerry's eyes widened, and he tried to sit up.  His stomach protested sharply at once, and he lay back down again in a hurry.  "Where's Mulder?"

   "Never mind that for the moment.  Do you remember who hit you?"

   He was silent, and Scully had the oddest feeling that he was in two minds about telling her something.  "You said I've got a needle-mark on my arm?" he temporised.

   "Yes, and you were out for hours.  I think they must have doped you up, but on what I don't know.  You've almost certainly got concussion as well, so you'd better stop here for a while.  What time did you come looking for me?"

   "About 10.30."

   "It's nearly 5.00 am now."

   "Shit!"  Jerry stared up at the ceiling for several moments, then turned his head - cautiously - to look at Scully, and she was dismayed to see what looked suspiciously like a note of sick alarm in his eyes.  "Scully ... look, this is going to sound as crazy as hell, but just before I got coshed - "

   "Yes?"

   He swallowed.  "I was looking around the room, wondering who the hell had turned it over, when somebody came up behind me and spoke to me."

   Scully looked at him narrowly, wondering where this was going.  "Male or female?"

   "Female," he sighed.  "Scully - Dana - look, where is Mulder?  It could be important."

   Scully suppressed a sudden urge to add a second lump to the one on his head.  "Jerry, will you just get to the point, and tell me what the hell happened?" she demanded sharply.

   "The woman who spoke to me - I didn't see her, but I'd know that voice anywhere.  It was Phoebe."

XXXX

   Things were becoming very confused for Mulder now.  The ambulance had drawn up in front of what looked like a large, floodlit hanger building and he'd been neatly decanted, protesting weakly all the way.  Whatever they'd injected him with, though, was certainly effective for his vision was extremely blurred and he was feeling decidedly queasy, a sensation which wasn't helped by the speed at which they were towing his gurney through the hanger.

   His eyes were open, though, and he was doing his best to use them, fighting their natural inclination to slide closed. 

   The hanger was mostly a blur to him, but he was conscious of an extraordinary number of people running around, many of them in some sort of protective clothing.  There were assorted mechanical noises, and what sounded blaringly like a klaxon alarm; and whole of the inside of the hanger seemed to be draped in clear plastic sheeting which allowed light in from the high windows but semi-concealed vast areas of the building.  Mulder blinked and desperately tried to focus his vision as they passed a huge, vaguely triangular shaped object which was swarming with people, but they were moving too fast for him to get any clear idea of what it was.

   Then he was dragged through more doors, down a corridor and into a room that looked horribly like an operating theatre.  He was swiftly and efficiently transferred from the gurney to a table, where his arms and legs were strapped down tightly, and there was a pause while a medic prepared yet another injection.

   Mulder tried to summon the energy to protest, to fight the confining leather straps at his wrists, waist and ankles, but it seemed too much of an effort.  He was watching dully as the medic fired the hypodermic into the air, when something happened that provided him with enough incentive to struggle, albeit futilely.

   The doors to the theatre opened and a new figure walked in, who leaned around the medic to take an appraising look at the captive.

   Phoebe.

   The sudden, violent surge of adrenaline which coursed through Mulder cleared away most of the fog clouding his mind.  He let out a yell of fury - surprising even himself - and fought the straps binding him.  One must have been weak; his right arm tore free of it and he lunged clumsily at the face of his tormentor, missing her by several feet and hitting the medic instead.  The two MP's who had accompanied him into the room leapt to hold him down, as the medic recovered himself and dove in to apply the injection.

   It took nearly a full minute for the jab to take effect, during which time Mulder cursed up a blue streak and fought the two soldiers like a madman.  He had only one thought in his mind - to get to that woman and break her neck, a fact which seemed to amuse her.

   Eventually, though, his struggles began to weaken, until the soldiers cautiously let go of him.  His right arm was strapped down again, but the fight had gone out of Mulder, along with most of his thought processes.  He stared dully at Phoebe, trying desperately to make his brain function enough just for one coherent phrase, but when it finally came out it would be hard to say exactly what answer he was hoping for.

   "W-why?"

   Phoebe folded her arms across her chest and strolled casually over to his side.  She tilted her head, looking down at him, and her expression held the same kind of curiosity a collector might display for a butterfly on the end of a pin. 

   And after a moment her lips moved in reply, but Mulder was too far gone to hear her.

XXXX

   It took another hour or so, but the nausea eventually subsided enough that Jerry felt he could get up and move to his own motel room.  By that time, the sun was well and truly up and Scully was beginning to seriously worry about Mulder's whereabouts.  Even if he'd had to walk back from the base, he should have been back by now. 

   Supporting Jerry back along the row of chalets to his room, she decided she'd better get herself cleaned up and go take a look for him, and said so.

   "I'll go with you," was Jerry's immediate response.

   "No!" Scully told him forcefully.  "Jerry, you can hardly stand up on your own - you should be in a hospital, not here, and - "

   "So I'll stay in the car!" he exploded.  "For crying out loud, Scully, why the hell am I here if you're just going to abandon me whenever there's a problem?"

   Scully bristled and opened her mouth to snap back at him - and paused, fuming.  There was a tense silence for a few seconds, broken eventually by Jerry pointing out rather dryly: "You still haven't told me where the pair of you went last night ... or is that something I shouldn't be asking?"

   She flushed, aware that she had no real grounds to object to the insinuation.  "Mulder turned up on my doorstep saying he had something he wanted me to see," she muttered.  "And it's not what you're thinking, Jerry, despite appearances."

   "I don't think you have any idea how it appears," he retorted.

   Scully's temper snapped.  She abandoned him by the door of his motel room and headed for the car, unlocking the driver's door with a hand that shook slightly.  Once inside, she had to stop and breathe deeply, gripping the steering wheel. 

   She had to get a grip on herself.  She had a job to do, and she still didn't know where Mulder was.

   Then the passenger door was flung open and Jerry threw himself into the seat beside her.  She shot a look at him, and realised that he was battling with his own anger, for his face was white and his eyes blazed.

   But when he spoke, it was with surprising mildness.  "So what _were_ you doing?"

   "Watching lights above the airbase," she replied curtly.  "I don't know what they were - they moved too fast for aircraft, but Mulder was convinced they were some kind of plane or something.  We watched them for about ten minutes from a hilltop just outside the base perimeter fence, then there was a crash and the next thing we knew, there was a helicopter heading straight for us."

   Jerry suppressed a sigh.  He wasn't sure he needed to hear the rest of the story, and his head was aching miserably.  "And?"

   " _And_ when we hid under some trees, we ran into a couple of kids coming out of a hole in the fence.  They'd been going in there and watching the lights for months."

   "So, let me guess.  Mulder went straight through the hole in the fence, leaving you to baby-sit the kids."

   Scully started up the car with a vicious twist of the keys.  "Something like that."

   "Great," Jerry muttered.  "You realise they probably caught him?"

   "That thought had occurred to me.  But I want to check the spot where he went in anyway."

   "And if he's not there?"

   Scully bit her lip.  "Then we go round to the base entrance and ask."

   Jerry leaned his head back on the rest and closed his eyes.  "Logical."

   Silence reigned after that.  Scully drove out of the town and took the road leading out to the base that Mulder had taken the night before.  They were perhaps halfway to the base, and Scully's mind was less than half on her driving, when she became aware of another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction at speed.  The road was quite narrow; two vehicles could pass each other, but only if they were driving carefully, and she quickly realised that the truck coming towards her had no intention of slowing down.

   "Jerry, brace yourself!" she warned, and swerved just in time to avoid being hit.  They ended up nearly in a ditch at the side of the road, and Scully hit the horn in an angry rebuke to the other driver.  "Are you okay?" she asked her partner.

   He gave her a rather shaken nod and tapped the strap of the seatbelt across his chest.  Scully sighed with relief and twisted in her seat to get a look out of the rear window.  Then she blinked, for the truck had stopped a short distance up the road.

   "They've stopped," she said in surprise.

   "Uh-oh," Jerry muttered.

   For a moment, nothing happened.  Then the rear doors of the truck were flung open and something was shoved out onto the road by two uniformed figures.  The doors were quickly pulled shut again, and the truck was turned around with a squeal of tires, before being driven back down the road at speed.

   Scully nearly fell out of the car in her haste to get to what had been thrown in the road - the battered and unmoving body of Fox Mulder.

XXXX

   "How is he?"

   Scully glanced up at her partner and pursed her lips.  "Still out of it."

   Jerry stepped over to the bed and looked down at Mulder searchingly.  "Head injury or drugs?"

   Her mouth tightened and she pushed Mulder's left sleeve up to show him a couple of needlemarks.  "He might have had a bump as well, but nothing significant compared to this."

   Jerry leaned over and brushed his fingers over the unconscious man's wrist.  "Hullo - he's been restrained ."

   Scully nodded.  "Wrists and ankles.  He's been knocked about a bit, like someone got him in a flying tackle - he has gravel marks on his face and palms - and look at this."  She lifted Mulder's right hand and showed Jerry the bruised and scraped knuckles.  "Seems like he got a bit of payback somewhere along the line."

   "His life's never dull, is it?" Jerry commented sourly.  "I could handle mine being a little less exciting, come to that."  He touched the lump on the back of his head gingerly.

   Scully's eyes searched his face.  "How is it?"

   "Sore.  I'll live.  Can I have a word with you a sec?"

   She nodded and the stepped outside into the brilliant morning sunlight.  Jerry winced again a little, but turned to his partner.  "I just got a call from Mrs. Budahas.  She says her husband has come home."

   Her eyes widened.  "When?  How?"

   "She didn't give me any details, but I understand he turned up on her doorstep at about ten or eleven last night.  She sounds pretty shaky, Dana, and she wants to see us."

   "I'll get changed - "

   Jerry caught Scully's elbow quickly, holding her back.  "What about Mulder?"

   _Damn._   Scully looked at the motel room indecisively.  _He shouldn't be left alone ...._

   Jerry nodded.  "It's okay - you stay here.  Someone should.  I'll go and see Mrs. Budahas, and find out what's going on."

   "No, Jerry, it's okay - "

   "Dana."  He sighed and gave her a rueful smile.  "Look, don't take what I said earlier too much to heart, huh?  I'm sorry - I had a crack on the head and I'm always cranky after something like that.  I had no business saying that stuff.  I don't want you to think I don't trust you to do your job - "

   "No, you were right," Scully interrupted.  "I've not been behaving in a particularly professional manner with this case, Jerry, and you were right to get mad at me about it.  It's just that ...."  She paused, choosing her words.  "It's just that I've got used to working ... not exactly alone, but on my own with Mulder looking over my shoulder.  And I've got to break that habit.  This case - hasn't been a good one for you and I to start on together.  If there _is_ a case, and I'm beginning to doubt it."

   "There's a case alright.  Mulder and I both seem to have had a head-on collision with it, in case you've forgotten."

   She studied his face thoughtfully.  "True - but on the other hand, the Military authorities often don't have give an explanation for their actions around experimental bases."

   His tipped his head to one side quizzically.  "Huh?"

   Scully gave him a small smile.  "At the risk of sounding like Mulder - think of the security measures permitted at Area 51.  And Mulder and I _were_ trespassing last night."

   "I wasn't.  And that doesn't explain what Phoebe was doing here."

   She frowned a little.  "No ....  But are you sure it was Phoebe?"

   Jerry's shoulders slumped a little.  "No," he admitted, "although it sure as hell sounded like her, and she knew my name, dammit!"

   "There are plenty of women working for the military, Jerry, and our ID's must have been picked up by the base security pretty quickly.  And I have no difficulty in believing Mulder's done something since he arrived here to warrant them wanting a closer look at his room - hassling Colonel Kissel for a start."  She sighed.  "That doesn't explain why they coshed you and doped you up, though, and it doesn't explain what they did to Mulder either."

XXXX

   In the end, Jerry got himself cleaned up and went to investigate Mrs. Budahas's call, while Scully stayed to keep an eye on Mulder.  It hadn't been easy to persuade her to do so, but the clincher had been her medical training; if anything untoward happened, she would be the one in the best position to help him.

   Sitting by his bedside, watching his pale face, Scully wondered absently if this was becoming a habit - hanging around by one man's bedside while the other ran off to do the real work.  Then she told herself sternly to stop being fanciful.  After all, aside from the fact that Jerry had been the logical choice to go and talk to Mrs. Budahas, it wasn't like she was in some bizarre menage a trois situation with him and Mulder ....

   The idea was enough to keep her entertained for nearly fifteen minutes though, and the idle speculation was only brought to a halt by the sound of a faint rasping cough from the bed.  Mulder was coming around slowly, shifting his head a little and moving his limbs stiffly.  Scully picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, remembering Jerry's dehydration, and gently touched one shoulder.

   "Mulder?"

   His reaction stunned her. 

   "NO!"  He jerked upright, eyes wide, and took a swing at her which Scully only just managed to avoid.  The glass of water went flying and with his balance affected by the drugs, Mulder promptly tumbled to the floor.

   Scully said a word which her mother would have been horrified to know she had learned from her father, and hauled him back upright.  He was blinking dazedly and had only just missed hitting his head on the corner of the bedside table.  "Mulder?  Mulder, are you okay?"

   He stared up at her, confused, and swallowed dryly, coughing slightly.  Scully sighed and propped him up against the bed before going to find more water.  When she returned he seemed to be more himself and gulped the cold liquid gratefully.  She crouched beside him and gently checked his eyes.  His pupils seemed to be the normal size, and he acquiesced to the examination docilely enough.

   She sat back on her heels finally and looked at him.  "Do you know who I am now?" she asked.

   He nodded.  "Yeah.  Sorry about that."

   "What happened just then?"

   He shook his head, searching his mind, but it was blank even of the reason for his panic upon awakening.  "I don't know, Scully."

   Scully gave him a frustrated look.  "What happened to you at the base, Mulder?  Where have you been all night?"

   Mulder looked at her blankly.  "All night?  I don't ....  Scully, what happened after the helicopter appeared?"

   She stared at him.  "You don't remember?"

   "I ... no.  Why - ?"  His eyes widened in horror.  "How long have I ...."

   "Jerry and I picked you up about two hours ago," Scully told him bluntly.  "You were unconscious and had been thrown out of a jeep into the road by people I assume to be personnel from the base.  As to where you were all night, only you can answer that.  You ditched me shortly after we saw the helicopter and got into the base via a hole in the perimeter fence.  I'm assuming you got caught - judging by the marks on you, you've been physically restrained and drugged."

   Mulder looked at his wrists blankly.  "I - I don't remember."

   Scully sighed in frustration and stood up.  "You're in good company then, because Jerry got knocked on the head while we were gone and given a dose of something too.  And they turned your room over - you'd better take a look and see if anything's missing."

   He slowly climbed to his feet and propped himself up against the end of the bed.  "Jerry got done over too?"

   "That's what I said," she replied dryly.

   "Where is he?"

   "He's gone to see Mrs. Budahas.  Apparently her husband turned up again last night."

   Mulder nearly fell over in his sudden attempt to get to the door.  "Colonel Budahas?  Scully, we've got to - "

   "No, we _haven't_!" Scully snapped, losing patience.  She told herself she was allowed one outburst, given a sleepless night and two injured men on her hands.  She grabbed Mulder's arm and forcibly pushed him down onto the edge of the bed.  "Listen to me, Fox Mulder," she said clearly, bending slightly to look him in the eye, "you are in no condition to go anywhere short of a hospital, so you either sit still and do as I tell you, or I'm taking you to one now!  Is that understood?"

   "But Scully - " he protested.

   "No 'buts', Mulder!  Is that understood?"

   He fumed for a moment or two, but was quelled by the dangerous light in her eyes.  "Okay," he muttered.

   "Good.  Jerry is perfectly capable of handling the situation.  Now, help me check your stuff and see if anything's been taken.  Then we're packing up and getting out of here."

   Mulder, aware that he was feeling decidedly queasy and ill, decided it would be better not to protest.

XXXX

   Jerry arrived back less than half an hour later, impotently fuming.

   "What happened?" Scully demanded, as he flung himself down in the chair beside Mulder's bed.

   "Mrs. Budahas refused to let me in," he said curtly.  "She swore she never called us - in fact, from the way she was behaving I'd say that if you asked her right now, she'd swear she never called the FBI in to look for her husband at all.  She was acting as if there was someone holding a gun to the back of her head, Scully."

   "She's been got at," Mulder said at once.

   Jerry gave him a weary look.  "No shit.  Anyway, she's not talking.  Her husband is home, he's fine, everything's fine - now please piss off."

   Scully pursed her lips for a minute or two, thinking.  Then she shrugged and made a decision.  "Fine, that's it," she said.

   Both men looked up at her, and Mulder raised a brow.  "What is?"

   "The case.  That's it.  We came here to look for Mrs. Budahas's husband.  He's now home, and she's clearly doesn't want our assistance anymore.  There's nothing more we can do, so we get our stuff and go.  There's no point in hanging around here, upsetting the military anymore, and waiting to see if I can get a blow to the head and matching set of needlemarks too.  Go get your stuff together, Jerry, and I'll phone the airport."

   Mulder opened his mouth to protest, and Scully pinned him with a glare.  "No arguments, Mulder."

   He shut his mouth again.  She was probably right.

   "And no trying to run off while our backs are turned.  I'm watching you."

   Damn.

XXXX

   Their rather hurried departure from Idaho was uneventful.  Aware of Scully's watchful eye, Mulder behaved himself impeccably, and when they arrived back at Dulles the partners gave him a lift to his cousin Annie's home, so that he could collect both his car and his son. 

   After that, Scully didn't hear from him for nearly a month - except for a medium-sized, anonymous brown envelope landing on her mat one morning, which contained two slender magazines and a printed note:

 

       Our mutual friend asked us to put you on our mailing

       list.  This year's subscription's on him. 

            Would you consider meeting me for lunch next

       week? 

       F.

 

    Scully puzzled over this for a moment, then examined the two publications.  One was a neatly produced broadsheet newspaper titled "The Magic Bullet"; the other was a glossy magazine called "The Lone Gunman". 

   Enlightenment dawned.  She flipped quickly through them, noting that they were chock-full of conspiracy theories and alien abductions, then tucked them under her arm to read over breakfast.  It was only when she was halfway through her blueberry bagel that she found the article about the downed plane in Wisconsin, complete with inconclusive photographs and a mention of "unlawful" detentions of US citizens by the military.  Forewarned, she was less surprised when the next piece - "by an anonymous investigator" - related the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of Col. R. Budahas but Scully still nearly choked on her breakfast as she read the account of the "FBI-sanctioned investigation" and the "suspicious actions" of the local military at Ellens Air Base.

XXXX

 

     To: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     From: DScully@fbi.net

     Subject: Your article.

     *****************************************

     I saw your article in TLG.  I suppose the best that can be

     said for it is that you mentioned no names.  But I don't

     recall telling you that you could do a story on this

     investigation anyway.  What are you playing at?

     S.

     *****************************************

 

     To: DScully@fbi.net

     From: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     Subject: Huh?

     *****************************************

     I was onto that 'investigation' before you were, and

     I seem to recall that in fact, the Bureau had already

     closed the case.  You had to re-open it. 

       Let's not get pissy about this, Scully - you knew what

     I was the first time we met.  And I thought we agreed

     before the Tooms case that I could write up any

     investigations we were both in on?  What's the

     problem all of a sudden?

     M.

     *****************************************

 

   Scully stared at the message on the screen in front of her, and bit her lip.  Mulder had a remarkable way of transmitting his little-boy-hurt look and pouting lower lip via e-mail - the surprise and injury coming off the note were palpable.  She already regretted sending such a sharp message, but she'd arrived back in DC feeling pretty grim about the entire affair, and when she and Jerry arrived in at work the next day, they'd endured a chewing out from Skinner that still made her feel hot with embarrassment.  On top of that, his parting words had been "I sincerely hope, for your sakes, that the press doesn't get a hold of this or we'll never hear the last of it".  The minute they'd got out of his office, Jerry had turned to her and said "Can you shut Mulder up?"

   Things had been a little tense between them for an hour or two over that, but Scully had forgotten about it until the two magazines arrived at her apartment.  She'd rattled out the message without thinking about it.

 

     To: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     From: DScully@fbi.net

     Subject: Sorry.

     *****************************************

     Sorry.  I ... had some trouble from Skinner over it.

     He's concerned the press may find out, and have a

     party.

     S.

     *****************************************

 

     To: DScully@fbi.net

     From: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     Subject: Re: Sorry.

     *****************************************

     S'okay.  What kind of trouble?

     M.

     *****************************************

 

     To: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     From: DScully@fbi.net

     Subject: Re: Re: Sorry.

     *****************************************

     The usual.  Forget it. 

     How's Sam?

     S.

     *****************************************

 

     To: DScully@fbi.net

     From: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     Subject: Re: Re: Re: Sorry.

     *****************************************

     Sam's fine.  Stop changing the subject.  What kind

     of trouble?

     M.

  1. We really need a new subject title here ....                                        



     *****************************************

 

     To: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     From: DScully@fbi.net

     Subject: Let it drop, you a*****e!

     *****************************************

     It was just the usual!  Slapped wrist, "don't do it again"

     - you know the routine.  Forget it.

     S.

     *****************************************

 

     To: DScully@fbi.net

     From: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     Subject: Wash your mouth out!

     *****************************************

     <Shocked look> Agent Scully! <g>

     Will you have dinner with me tonight? My mom's

     looking after Sam for me; she's having friends over so

     she can play Grandma of the Year.

     M.

     *****************************************

 

     To: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     From: DScully@fbi.net

     Subject: I have a better idea.

     *****************************************

     No way - I've studied your behaviour patterns and

     I know we're due for a trip to MacDonalds.  Why

     don't you come over to my place, and I'll cook dinner?

     S.

     *****************************************

 

     To: DScully@fbi.net

     From: FMulder@georgetown.edu.net

     Subject: Re: I have a better idea.

     *****************************************

     It'll break Frohike's heart - you're on.

     <Sigh!> All this, and she cooks too!

     M.

     *****************************************

 

  Scully smiled, and made a mental note to leave a few minutes early and do some shopping.

XXXX

   Mulder gingerly poked a plate sticking up out of the hot soapy water.  "Can't I dry instead?"

   "No.  I'm not sure I trust you with my favourite china."  Scully fished a clean tea-towel out of a drawer and shook out the crisp folds.

   Mulder wondered idly if she was the kind of woman who ironed her towels.  "But there are floaty bits in the water," he objected.

   "I'm sure a dedicated New Man like you can handle it, Mulder."  She gave him an amused smile, and went to rummage in a cupboard.  After a moment or two she found the packet she wanted and waved it enticingly under his nose.  "Be good, and I'll make popcorn," she wheedled.

   He gave an exaggerated sigh.  "It's a sacrifice, but I'll do it."  He rolled up his sleeves and plunged both hands into the water.  "Although won't the popcorn make an uncomfortable mess on the sheets?" he added.

   The end of the tea-towel slapped his shoulder.  "Get washing!"

   "Yes ma'am!"

   "How's Jerry?" Mulder asked after a while, handing a dripping plate to Scully.

   "He's okay," she shrugged.  "I don't see a lot of him - he's working with the VCS at the moment.  And I'm stuck sorting through the files again.  Really, he's only supposed to join me on active cases."

   Mulder considered this.  "What happens if he's involved in another case elsewhere at the time?"

   "I don't know - why?"

   "Just wondering."

   Scully studied his face for a moment, but he didn't elaborate; his expression seemed to be rather far away for a moment.  "Mulder," she began hesitantly, "can I ask you something?"

   He looked at her in surprise and smiled.  "Sure."

   "When Jerry and I first arrived in Idaho ... you seemed to have mixed feelings about him being there.  Why was that?"

   Mulder hesitated, then shook his head slightly.  "I don't know, Scully.  Jerry's ... changed.  I can't put my finger on what it is, but there was something just a little off-balance about him."

   Scully's brows drew together.  "Are you sure?"

   He let out a little frustrated puff of breath.  "No!  I wish I was."

   "Mulder, you haven't seen him in some time," she pointed out reasonably.  "People do change -  I don't suppose you know what's been going on in his life since you left the Bureau, do you?"

   "No ...."

   Scully polished the plate thoughtfully for a moment or two.  "He's had some sort of reprimand recently," she said finally.  "They sent him to work with me because he got thrown out of the Denver office.  He seems to treat it pretty lightly but he won't tell me what the big deal is, and I can't find anyone who knows what happened."

   "They probably found out he's gay," Mulder said casually.  The startled silence at his shoulder made him look up, and he grinned at Scully's expression, reaching out to gently shut her bottom jaw with the tip of one finger.  "I guess you didn't know either - so much for the myth that says women always know these things!"

   "But ....  You knew?"

   "I just said so, didn't I?"

   "How?"

   "He hit on me when we were partners.  Kind of gave the game away."  He handed her a wine glass. 

   Scully leaned her hip against the worktop and studied his face for an incredulous moment.  Then her brain started to turn the matter over at its usual efficient speed.  "Mulder - being gay is not against the regulations at the Bureau, so how ...."

   Mulder shrugged.  "I worked at the Denver office on a case once.  Is Schwartz still the SAC there?"

   "I don't know - I think so."

   "He's pretty old-fashioned, Scully - he wouldn't want a goddamned queer on his team, trust me.  He'd have been looking for a reason to get rid of Jerry the second he found out."  Mulder swirled the water with one hand for a moment, staring into the suds.  "All the same, that's not the feeling I'm getting," he told her abruptly.  "I know Jerry - he'd have accepted a reprimand philosophically.  This is something else."

   "Mulder, you're paranoid," Scully told him.

   "From you, I'll accept the compliment," he grinned.  He fished around, found one final tumbler, rinsed it and handed it to her with a flourish.  "There - all finished."  And he pulled the plug before she could find anything else for him to wash.

   "Since you've been so good, I'll put the popcorn on."  Scully turned away to put the tumblers up in a cupboard.

   Suddenly, two wet hands seized her around the waist.  "No, don't bother," Mulder murmured into her hair.

XXXX

   Jerry Castamir wasn't much of a drinking man, but he'd been doing more of it lately, and tonight he would be the first to admit that he'd had a little too much.  He dragged himself back to his apartment, trying to remember if he had any aspirin in the bathroom cabinet, and leaned himself against the wall as he sorted out his door-key from the bunch.  It took a couple of minutes, because his fingers weren't entirely co-operative, but eventually he managed to find it and insert it into the lock.  He pushed the door open wearily, and when he'd managed to get inside, he leaned back against it to shut it.  His head was pounding, and he dimly wondered why he shouldn't just let himself slide to the floor and sleep there.

   "Good evening, Agent Castamir."

   Oh shit.  Jerry opened his eyes and looked at the man sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the dark room.  The street lights shining through the uncurtained window illuminated his profile, and the cherry-coloured tip of his cigarette burned a single point of colour into the inebriated agent's brain.

   "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

   "I thought I'd pay you a little visit," the quiet, unnervingly cold voice replied.  "I thought we should discuss your trip to Idaho, for a start."

   "There's nothing to discuss," Jerry replied curtly.  "If there ever was, you dealt with that when you blanked Mulder's memory and mine.  But since you're here, you can damn well answer a few questions."

   There was a pause as the visitor took a leisurely pull on his cigarette.  "Well?" he asked finally.

   "What the hell was Phoebe Green doing there?" Jerry demanded, pushing himself away from the door with an anger-induced effort.  "Is she one of your 'operatives' too, like Alex?"

   The man was unmoved.  "Was she there?" he asked, raising one brow.  "How ... odd."

   "It's not odd, it's sick!  And she damn well coshed me and doped me up with Christ knows what! But given her track record, I guess I shouldn't have expected anything else, should I?" Jerry sneered at the other man.  "What I want to know is why it was necessary for me to get the same treatment as Mulder."

   "My dear fellow, I can't possibly answer all your questions.  Some things are better for you not to know, especially since - under the circumstances - you can't really be considered a reliable operative."

   Jerry went very white about the mouth.  "I've given you my word," he whispered.  "I'm not doing this willingly - for Christ's sake, Mulder's a friend of mine - but I'll do it.  Do you really think I'd endanger - "  He stopped and swallowed.  "I still don't understand why Phoebe is in on this."

   The smoking man stood up.  "Let's just say that she has certain skills which are valuable to us at the present time.  I assume you didn't mention her presence to anyone?"

   Jerry hesitated.  "I mentioned it to Scully, but she didn't believe it was really Phoebe."

   "Hm.  Let us hope for your sake that she doesn't decide to change her mind.  Meanwhile, I suggest you get about whatever normal business a man in your position has.  I'll let you know when I have need of you again."

   Jerry watched mutely at the man calmly walked to the door and let himself out, then collapsed onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. 

   "Like I have a choice," he muttered bitterly.

XXXX

   Mulder came awake suddenly, with a sickening feeling that he'd overslept.  He raised his head slightly, but the room was in darkness.  For a moment he wondered if he'd actually had a disorientating dream and was really in his own bed, but almost at once he was aware of the warmth and weight of Scully lying against him.

   Damn.  He rolled onto his back carefully and disentangled both arms enough that he could operate the tiny light on his watch.

   03:12.

   Shit!  Adrenaline burned through his veins and into his stomach.  He should have been home hours ago.  Mulder began to ease himself out of Scully's grip, wondering if he'd be able to find his clothes without putting the light on.

   "Mulder?"  Her voice was soft and sleep-fogged.  "What's wrong?"

   "It's really late, Scully.  I've got to go."

   There was a rustling of the sheets and suddenly the light snapped on.  Mulder blinked and squinted; Scully was propped up on one elbow, looking at her clock.  She gave him a concerned look as he found his jeans and pulled them on.  "It'll be okay, won't it?"

   "I hope so."  He scooped up his shirt and yanked it over his head, uncaring of the fact that it was inside out.  He found his boots under a chair near the door and pulled them on, stuffing his socks into his pocket, then remembered that he hadn't put his boxers on either.  Too bad; a cursory sweep of the room failed to reveal them, and they'd just have to be left there. 

   He paused and looked back at Scully.  She was sat up in bed, the crisp, pale blue sheet tucked modestly around her, and her hair tousled and blue eyes concerned.  Mulder quickly went back and bent to kiss her.  "I'll call you," he promised.

   "You'd better," she smiled.  She watched him hurry out, scooping up his black leather jacket on the way, and waited until she heard the door shut with a quiet _snick_.  Then she flopped back onto the pillows with a sigh.

   Sometimes it felt like she was having an affair with a married man.

XXXX

   Mulder wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to rush home like he had demons on his tail, but one thing he did know; if he'd given way to a very powerful impulse and stayed with Scully all night, there would have been hell to pay with his mother in the morning.  She had already made one or two barbed comments about his relationship with the FBI agent, and she was not afraid to express her opinions, despite the fact that she had never met Scully before the trip to Idaho.

   Life with his mother was not easy for Mulder, and he suspected that it was going to get more difficult.  She had never been the same since Samantha's death, and after that tragic event Mulder had spent a large portion of his life being looked after his grandparents.  After her divorce, Rachel Mulder had lived for several years under the influence of a variety of tranquillisers, and at one point had become incapable of looking after her son.  The teenaged Fox had run wild and eventually been picked up by the authorities.

   Mulder flinched at the recollection, but one of the curses of his excellent memory was that once an event was called up, it was hard to banish again.  He'd spent the larger part of two weeks in a home for juvenile offenders before his grandparents had been given the okay to come and fetch him.  The time was not ill-spent however; he'd learned a lot from the experience and it was one of a number of incidents in his life which made him determined to raise Sam properly.  After that, he'd only spent short breaks with his mother, and they were always supervised by one or other of his watchful relatives.  His visits to his father were even briefer and more closely supervised.  And Mulder was in no doubt of the reasons for _that_.

   With an effort, he managed to switch off those particular memories, and turned the car into his mother's driveway.  Parking up and switching off the engine, Mulder divested himself of his seat-belt and glanced up at the windows of his grandparents' old house, expecting to find them dark.  But to his surprise, the windows of the study on the ground floor were dimly lit.

   That was unusual.  Surely his mother wasn't waiting up for him?  It would have to be the first time in his experience that she'd done such a thing.

   Mulder locked the car up and ran up the front steps, letting himself in quickly. 

   "Mom?" he called softly.  No reply.  She'd probably just forgotten to switch the light out.  Mulder pushed the study door open - and stood, transfixed, in the doorway.

   Given that Sam was a restless child - hardly surprising in an active and well-developed two-year-old - Mrs. Mulder kept a large playpen which she erected whenever she had guests, and popped the little boy inside with his favourite toys.  That way, they were both in each other's eyesight, but not getting in each other's way.  Mulder had no argument with this - in fact, he sometimes used the same method to keep Sam under control himself, when they were alone in the house together and he was trying to work.  Sam was usually quite happy to play on his own, provided he knew where his father or grandmother was.

   The sight that met Mulder's eyes was of his small son still inside the playpen, fully dressed and sprawled across a fat cushion, asleep.

   For a moment he couldn't breathe; then his instinct was to go running upstairs and shake his mother within an inch of her life.  Mulder leaned limply against the door post, fighting the impulse; it wouldn't achieve anything, and hearing his father and grandmother fight would frighten Sam. 

   After a moment or two, Mulder dragged himself away from the lintel and mechanically took his jacket off, throwing it over the arm of a chair.  He bent over the side of the playpen and woke Sam enough to pick him up, then switched the light out and carried him upstairs.  The little boy was very tired and fretful, but he managed to change him into his sleepsuit without much difficulty.

   Then Mulder carried Sam into his own room and settled himself into the reclining chair there, which had been a gift from his cousin Annie and her husband when he'd decided to look after Sam himself instead of giving him up to them for adoption.  He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep himself tonight, but he wanted the boy with him while he thought.  While Sam slumbered peacefully in his arms, his father sat staring into the darkness, wondering what to do next.

XXXX

   When dawn came, Mulder had reached a kind of emotional plateau.  He gently put Sam into his crib without waking him, then changed into his shorts and battered sleeveless sweatshirt and went for a run.  He felt a need for the physical exercise to get him into the right frame of mind to deal with his mother when he got home.

   He arrived home nearly an hour later to find that someone was waiting for him; his visitor from the prior to his trip to Idaho was stood at the corner of the driveway.  Mulder slowed from a jog to a walk until he came to standstill in front of the man.  For a moment they both studied each other in silence, then the older man spoke.

   "Your lives may be in danger."

   Mulder didn't pretend not to understand him.  "Why?"

   "You've seen things that weren't meant to be seen.  Care and discretion are now imperative," the man told him.

   Mulder frowned, considering this.  "I saw - " he began, but he was cut off impatiently.

   "As I said, I can provide you with information, but only so long as it's in _my_ best interests to do so."

   "What _is_ your interest?" Mulder demanded, frustrated.

   He got a sad smile in return.  "The truth."

   "I _did_ see something!" Mulder stated, seeing confirmation in the older man's resigned and weary expression.  "But it's gone - they took it from me, they erased it.  You have to tell me what it was."

   The man's brow rose almost mockingly.  "A military UFO?"  His tone changed then, became almost fatherly.  "Mr. Mulder - why are those like yourself, who believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life on this earth, not entirely dissuaded by all the evidence to the contrary?"

   "Because ...."  Mulder hesitated.  "Because all of the evidence to the contrary is not entirely dissuasive," he said finally.

   Their eyes met, and the older man gave a short, soundless laugh.  "Precisely!"  He turned and began to walk away.

   Mulder watched him go, puzzled by the encounter, then suddenly called after him, "They're here, aren't they?"

   The man paused, half-turning, and shook his head tiredly.  "Mr. Mulder, "they" have been here for a very long time."

  Mulder watched him go, debating on whether he should follow him, but a recollection of his responsibilities stopped him.  Besides, he had a feeling this wasn't the last he'd seen of this man.  Aware that his muscles were beginning to cool and stiffen, Mulder forced himself into a slow jog up the driveway and let himself into the house again.  He needed a shower and clean clothes before he faced his mother.

XXXX

   Upstairs, Mrs. Mulder stepped back from the bedroom window as her son came up the driveway, and forced herself not to watch the other man's swift retreat down the street.  Her hands were shaking at witnessing the unexpected encounter, and she wrapped her arms around herself, tucking her fingers under her armpits in an attempt to stop the tremors.  This was bad; this was _very_ bad.  But she didn't think she could handle another phonecall to _him_ again.

   Rachel Mulder had had enough of this.  She was tired of having her efforts to remain distant from her past thwarted, and she wanted it to end.

  Now.

XXXX

   When Mulder emerged from the shower, he swiftly dried himself and got dressed.  He popped his head into Sam's room, but the little boy was still fast asleep - which was hardly surprising, considering the night he'd had - so he quickly headed for the stairs.  His stomach was turning somersaults, but this had to be got over with before the boy awoke.

   He found his mother sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in an elegant dressing gown and sipping black coffee.  Her back was ramrod straight and her gaze focussed somewhere in the middle distance; she didn't acknowledge his arrival, and indeed Mulder had to wonder if she even noticed he was there.

   Too bad.  She wasn't getting out of this by pretending he didn't exist.  A vague sense of injustice stirred at the very back of Mulder's mind as he paused in the doorway and stared at her; a remembered hurt.  She'd got herself out of a lot of arguments and situations during his childhood and teens by behaving just as she was now; pretending that it wasn't happening, that the world around her was vague and incorporeal.

   "Why didn't you put Sam to bed last night?"

   For a moment, it seemed as though she hadn't heard him; then her gaze shifted to look at him, although she didn't reply.  Her eyes were far away, as though she was looking at him from the other side of the street.

   Mulder began to feel the burn of acid, white-hot anger, and he wrestled with it fiercely, determined not to lose his temper and start shouting as he remembered his father doing.  Apart from anything else, he knew it would have no effect on her, and besides - he never wanted to be like his father. 

   "I said - "

   "I heard you."  Mrs. Mulder slowly and carefully put her cup on the saucer, and folded her hands in her lap.  "Where were you all night?"

   "I wasn't out _all_ night," Mulder retorted.

   "Don't lie to me, Fox.  You were with her again, weren't you?  I'm surprised you even bothered to come home."

   "What the hell does it matter where I was?" he demanded, incredulous.  "This isn't about me, it's about Sam."

   "Yes."  Her eyes fixed on him coolly.  "He's your son and you have a responsibility to him."

   That stung.  A lot of people had been going on about Mulder's responsibility to Sam lately.  "What about _your_ responsibility?  You agreed to look after him last night.  I told you I might be late back, but you still agreed.  But when I did arrive home, I found him still in his playpen, at nearly four in the morning!  How could you just go to bed and leave him there?"

   "He's not my responsibility," Mrs. Mulder replied, her tone still level and cool.  Indifferent.  "I agreed to mind him during the evening, Fox, not all night.  If you can't come home at a reasonable hour, that's your problem."

   Mulder stared at her, his brain whirling.  He couldn't believe he was hearing this.  "He's your _grandson_ ," he said, his tone stunned.

   Her shoulders lifted in the tiniest of shrugs.  "Perhaps.  I don't see what difference that makes.  He's still your problem.  And if you'd rather spend time with that _shiksa_ , then perhaps you should be making different arrangements for him." 

   Mulder nodded slowly, still staring at her.  "Maybe you're right.  This arrangement obviously isn't working anymore."  He watched as she calmly picked the cup and saucer up and took them over to the sink to rinse out.  His eyes drifted blindly over the kitchen for a moment, noting almost in passing that she'd quite deliberately only made enough coffee this morning for one, and slowly came back to rest on her back.  "Okay.  I guess I'd better go see Uncle Max this morning."

   _That_ drew her attention.  "What?  Why?"

   Mulder's eyes met his mother's grimly.  "It's obviously time Sam and I found a place of our own," he told her quietly, "and since you and I lease this place from Max jointly ...."

   She recovered her poise almost immediately, and nodded with ill-concealed relief.  "Very well.  I'll come with you."

   He nodded, and then, because he couldn't bear to look at her any longer, he turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

 

  _~ finis ~_

 


End file.
